do one you coward
thank you hayley for not being specific
anyways, send me a cliche prompt
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1)There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close
Silver used to be the fastest boy in his neighborhood, gone down the twisting alleyways that made up his home before people even knew something was amiss. Could swipe something from a merchant’s stall without being seen, small enough to fit in every nook and cranny of the rundown buildings that seemed to go on for miles.
He found the task to be more difficult when the tap of a crutch against cobblestone was more likely to give him away. Couldn’t fit into places he used to, shoulders broad from fighting and compensating for his leg. Even now he could practically feel the hand of one of the men chasing him grabbing at his coat and he thinks his younger self would be mortified at being so slow.
Silver is just about to start screaming bloody murder to wake up every resident in a one mile radius just to distract the men chasing him, when a hand shoots out from the shadow of an alley and pulls him into the darkness. It happens so quickly that his foot leaves the ground and he’s pinned against the rough brick o a rowhouse. He lets his knife slip from his sleeve to rest in the palm of his hand before he recognizes the shape in front of him.
Flint’s face is so smeared with soot and paint that Silver can only see the whites of his eyes in shadow of the building and the effect is an unnerving one. Still he bundles himself against Silver until they’re crammed in the corner of of the alley, well out of sight of the men who had been chasing Silver. The men who are now milling around like hounds that have lost the scent, perplexed by his sudden disappearance.
“Flint-”
A hand comes up to cover his mouth and Silver can’t see his face, but he knows Flint is glaring at him. He waits until the men and the sound of their voices disappears before he removes his hand. Silver’s curls his lip up at him, even as Flint pats him down.
“I’m fine,” he says, swatting at him. “They never caught up to me.”
“They were fucking about to,” Flint snarls and Silver shivers at the glint of his teeth in the moonlight. “What were you even doing? This was supposed to be a quick raid, nothing more.”
“I was gathering information,” Silver says, reaching into his coat to pull out the papers he’d snatched off a British officer’s desk while making his way through the gatehouse at the docks. “You’re welcome.”
Flint snatches them from his hand, clearly still annoyed, but Silver can tell he’s also pleased.
“And your shoulder?” Flint asks, turning to him. “How did that happen?”
Silver winces and Flint snorts.
“What? You thought I wouldn’t notice? You’re good with a knife, who got that close to you?”
“Some rat of a cabin boy,” Silver says and Flint makes an amused noise, tugging Silver’s shirt aside to look at the long, thin wound still bleeding. There’s no way he can see the full extent of the damage in the dark, but he still tsks at Silver.
“You’ve forgotten everything I’ve taught you if you’ve let a child do this,” Flint says, taking a piece of cloth from his pocket and pressing it to Silver’s wound.
His hand is warm against his skin through the cloth and Silver sighs, even at the sting of the cloth against the cut.
“It’s not that bad,” Silver says,“Certainly not worth your handkerchief good sir.”
Flint just makes a low noise, probably in disagreement, certainly in irritation at his flippant tone. He takes Silver’s hand and brings it up to his shoulder to keep the handkerchief in place. He’s gone before Silver can even process the feel of Flint’s palm against his skin, peeking around the corner of the alley to make sure the men are gone. He turns and motions for Silver once he’s sure he coast is clear.
“What, you’re not going to carry me?” Silver asks and Flint rolls his eyes before taking a pistol out of his holster and handing it to Silver.
“Here, in case anymore errant cabin boys make a run at you. Try not to shoot me instead.”
“If I hit you it’s not an accident,” Silver mutters, adjusting his crutch to keep up.
“I heard that.”
“Good, it means you’re still listening to me.”
