Victubia Theme of the Month: June- Flower Language
I’m soo damn late with this but better than not finishing it at all! @,,@
Warnings: Dark themes with mention of violation.
I do hope you enjoy this. Been forever since I posted anything!
Bonus at the end. ^,,^
Through the forest frosted and covered in white from the winter season, a massive being as pale as the snow trudged along, his form only noticeable from the void black hooded cloak. A colossal dadao blade was strapped to his broad back, accentuating his dangerous form, sheening in the grey light of the surroundings. However, cradled tenderly as if a baby in his muscular arms was a black lace bouquet of various species of decidedly out of season flowers, tied with a black ribbon. Each blossom was completely flawless and radiant as if preserved and protected by some form of magic, which indeed they were and a mesh veil. Just as special was the meaning behind each of them, some sweet and others somber.
It was with the expert assistance of the eccentric and theatrical entrepreneur from the special floral shop in the capital that he was able to collect such a meaningful arrangement. The short transwoman with the tri-colored ringlet hair had flit him about the shop, expressing the significance of each and every one. Though she was respectful to his purpose, she was rather apprehensive to let him leave with the flowers, learning he intended to leave them on a grave in the dead of winter. In the end, though his expression had been guarded, she saw the tragic sadness in his black eyes and she could not deny him. In the end, he walked out with a couple of pink carnations, dark crimson and tea roses, zinnias, anemones, and the best wishes of the businesswoman Adela.
Kain’s arms cuddled more around the bouquet and his heart sank as he broke through the trees to the small, secluded bluff overlooking the opaque ocean moving calmly under the desolate sky, drizzling with flakes. He had thought he had prepared himself enough, it had been a year since that day after all but, already he felt his innards constrict and tangle, tears already threatening to sting his eyes. Though he was struggling, he finally lowered his gaze on the three graves, only indicated by a trio of nondescript, dark grey stones. A thick layer of snow had nearly buried the stones, blanketing the mounds. This would not do.
Sitting his flowers under one of the spindly boned trees, he turned back and lifted his arms to the frigid wind, feeling the power resonate within him. Brows furrowing and with a single tear sliding down his cheek, he thrust his hands forward. Harnessing his inner turmoil, he surged a blast of magically concentrated air to dust the graves free of the white, fanning it over the bluff in an avalanche. The deafening, whirling howl of the wind gave voice to Kain’s deepest feelings, the cold clawing up his arms and fingers.
Dropping his hands, shoulders slumping, he exhaled softly, the graves visible with a glossy sheen of ice over the black dirt. Muscles tensing, he could not halt the faces of the two brothers from entering his mind, Arui, and…Ovis. The third grave belonged to their mother though Kain had never met her but, he held her in great esteem for she was the figurehead of their family. Ovis took center stage of his mind as he recalled the time they spent together as friends and comrades under the way of the assassin.
These memories, more powerful here, continued to bombard him as he retrieved the bouquet, brushing away the clinging snowflakes. When he turned back around, his feet became as if encased in cement blocks dropped in quicksand. It took all of his strength to trudge over to the grave of Ovis, each step heavier than the last. He could hear Ovis’ smooth voice in his head, the passing conversations and snarky comments playing out on repeat.
Reaching the foot of the mound, the voice was cut off by the ringing of the wire that decapitated him. The scent of his blood was as fresh in his nose as the day he died. Kain’s knees buckled, the weight of his emotions, amplified by the images of Ovis’ demise, crumbling him to the ground. Hunched over, tears flowed freely now, sprinkling the petals, instantly crystalizing into frozen blossoms of their own.
Kain cried silently for a few minutes before he was finally able to lay the bouquet onto the grave, whispering yet another final goodbye. Midway through his sentence, however, another voice intruded, one horribly and impossibly familiar. The sound was gravelly, yet smooth, like the burble of a creek over jagged stones.
“Ni hao, my western wind.” The tone was dripping with longing and elation, a strange combo that made Kain notice for the first time just how cold it was.
Wondering whether he had lost his mind, the pale man turned his head slightly, squinting at the ostentatious form, emanating warm color. The very sight made his skin crawl and the sadness evaporated, replaced by a cold emptiness. Standing not ten feet away was a man of average stature, but a powerfully athletic build, draped in the most ornate and embellished ceremonial, silk robe Kain had ever seen.
A rose gold embroidered fierce serpent of Chinese myth, known as the Bashe, wrapped around his body multiple times, jaws unhinged and fangs threatening, in a sea of glittering lotus flowers of warm colors. Over the robe, he wore an open, large sleeved, cloth overcoat, tied at the chest by a felt chord, one arm occupied and the other vacant. A head and face wrap obscured ninety-five percent of his features save for a single eye, his mouth and a very long tuft of silver hair that sprung out in a downward curve. Although the sheathed Jian blade, hardly veiled by the coat was cause for concern, it was more what was behind him that snatched Kain’s attention.
Haphazardly hidden around his back was a colossal bouquet. The impossibly slight movement of Kain’s notice did not escape this new arrival, causing him to hide it better. “So living a normal life didn’t suit you huh?” He spoke matter of fact, clearly posing it as a question out of some mock sense of propriety. “And now you seem to have been accepted by THEM fully.”
Kain felt the sting of the phantom needle on the nape of his neck again where a tattoo of a wraith now resided, marking the creation of a new bloodline in the growing web of assassins. He gave no implication of responding, though his hand incessantly itched to reach for his blade.
“It’s pleasant to see one of you stuck to it, especially after all the work I put into creating such masterpieces. Shame my Eastern Wind actually succeeded in the normal life.”
White hot memories flashed before Kain’s eyes of a past friend the exact age as himself, raised in the life of murder. It was this friendship that changed everything and lead to the betrayal and fire that supposedly freed them from this life. Although a twinge of relief found Kain at the knowledge of his friend’s positive turn, he was crestfallen to find that their biggest problem apparently survived.
“What do you want?” Kain finally asked with a hard edge to his voice. “You’re desecrating hallowed ground.”
The man let out puffs of breaths that turned into a full-on cackle that shook his entire body, extremely entertained by the notion of an assassin respecting the dead. After a full minute of this, he finally calmed, still chuckling through frantic, broken breathes and apologies. Once again composed, he continued as if it did not happen.
“A peace offering…” He finally pulled out the bouquet he had hidden behind his back that easily put Kain’s to shame in both size and color. Though it would appear to be a simple collection of extravagant and beautiful flowers, Kain remembered once again the voice of the flower shop owner. Among the rainbow bouquet were flowers such as jonquils and red camellias with positive meanings behind them. However, there was also an abundance of flowers that expressed disappointment and anger, along with some that were downright warnings such as begonias and monkshoods. This bundle was a complete expression of the man’s deepest thoughts and wishes towards Kain.
“I enjoyed your idea so much I had to imitate it. Now, I’m willing to forgive you for taking my arm and nearly having me burned to death if you would but come back to me…” A vehement lust resounded from within the man now, his form quivering with a sickening longing. “I desire to have what we once had. Join me again and we can go start over, right before all those horrible mistakes you made. Forget about these silly bloodlines and dead people who were simply substitutions for your broken friendship with the Eastern wind.”
Kain reached for the hilt of his sword now. A maelstrom of excruciating emotions whirled inside him like a ravaging tornado, aided by the appalling thoughts of the countless times this man had molested, violated, and beat him, along with the accusation that everything he had with Arui and Ovis was fake. “Leave…”
“You even kept the sword I gave you. It’s clearly destiny!!!”
At those words, the smothering pain inside Kain became a coalescence of gusty magical energy that in that precise moment released in a single attack, impossible to catch. With a single spin, Kain let loose his dadao in a sideswipe that blasted forth a terrible white cyclone that tore up everything in its destructive path towards the man, including the iced stone ground.
The deafening cyclone made for the trees, collapsing a few before dissipating in a gust that blew the snow away in all directions. What was left was not the man but a scattering of shredded petals, raining a kaleidoscope of color. Brows knit so tight they were almost connected, Kain hissed through his closed lips, scanning everywhere for the individual only to find nothing.
Once the sound died down, a voice filtered from nowhere in particular. “Such a terrible shame. The west wind seems to have weakened. Don’t worry. I haven’t given up on you. But…I’m thinking I’m going to have to pay a visit to our old friend institutionalized by the false contentment of a normal life and…persuade him. Until we meet again my Western Wind.”
Kain’s powerful arms went limp as rubber, hanging down. With all his power escaped, he was left but a husk of a man staring dead-eyed into the tree line, shivering cold.
Bonus: Flower language
Flowers in Kain’s bouquet:
• CARNATION Pink - I'll Never Forget You CARNATION, Purple – Capriciousness
• ROSE Dark Crimson - Mourning
• ROSE Tea - I'll Remember; Always
• ZINNIA Mixed - Thinking (or in Memory) of an Absent Friend
• ANEMONE -Forsaken or forgotten love and affection, the death of a loved one or the loss of them to someone else, the arrival of the first spring winds, Bad luck or ill omens
• DAFFODIL - Regard; Unrequited Love; you’re the Only One; the Sun is Always Shining When I'm with you
• HYACINTH Purple - I Am Sorry; Please Forgive Me: Sorrow
Flowers in the arrivals bouquet:
• GERANIUM -"Stupidity; Folly for Kain’s actions.
• HYDRANGEA - Thank You for Understanding; Frigidity; Heartlessness
• JONQUIL - Love Me; Affection Returned; Desire; Sympathy; Desire for Affection Returned
• MONKSHOOD - Beware; A Deadly Foe is near
• STOCK - Bonds of Affection; Promptness; You'll Always Be Beautiful to Me
• CAMELLIA Pink - Longing for You
• BEGONIA – Beware
• CAMELLIA Red - You're a Flame in My Heart
• CARNATION Yellow - You Have Disappointed Me; Rejection
• HEATHER White - Protection; Wishes will Come True
• MARIGOLD - Cruelty: Grief Jealousy
• NASTURTIUM - Conquest; Victory in Battle
• PETUNIA - Resentment; Anger; Your Presence Soothes me
Wewt! Was able to finish one on time again! @,,@ Enjoy!
Warnings: Blood, violence.
Words: 1379
A harsh, eastern wind wails, piercing the darkness. After a moment of its cry, the sound dies and is replaced by labored and pained breathing. A dripping, crimson form, a single splotch of color in the void grows into focus as it becomes louder. Suddenly the wind is given form, standing before the being, now discerned as a woman knelt down, the body made entirely of blood, fleeting like candle wax on all sides.
The woman looks up, her face like a carved statue, frozen in agony as her body puddles under her. A heavy heartbeat quakes, resounding against the invisible walls. Her mouth moves over deaf words, hands quivering. Before the wind, rattling twin hook blades are gripped now, a guillotine around her neck, biting into it. A hiss so sharp it's maddening urges the wind on. Her mouth goes agape to beg before she is decapitated with a single movement. Head sailing, it lands with a hearty squelch and splatters, her body exploding like a bomb, painting the space in chunky gore.
Turmoil. The hook blades clatter to the ground, the cry of the wind returning only stronger. Sharp fangs immediately pierce the wind repeatedly, breaking him down, filling him with pulsing venom. Many more molten, bloody forms appear, seemingly burbling up from the ground, their cries now silent…only a hiss surrounding them…that dagger sharp hiss.
The weapons now moved without hesitation, blades of steel and wind sundering them all. Soon, their bodies completely varnished the void, the color somehow darker than the blackness. Encapsulated in these deeds, the wind feels the floor sinking in under him, pulling him with it. Just before his head is enveloped the scene changes into something entirely unexpected.
Red walls falling on all sides, he is now encompassed on all sides by sparkling blue water. Suddenly sitting on a vessel, salty air fills his lungs and a warm, pleasant radiance washes over his skin. Water splashes against the sides of the ship, muffling the constant screaming in his head and for the first time in a long time, he was able to relax somewhat. It was short lived however for he was ordered to constantly exhaust himself by use of his magic to speed things up. Finally, a new land appears on the horizon, a place more fantastic than any he has ever seen. He knew it was pointless to hope, but he couldn’t ignore the spark within him that something new could be ahead. Maybe a fresh start.
Of course, this was not so. Everything remained the same, only the language and environment changed. These new lands were quickly bathed in fresh blood. He was a captive, a slave to murder, forever. Maybe he should just end it all… Multiple times he tries but cowers away from going through with the act. In this maelstrom of torment, a dulcet, soothing melody stretches across the space.
Floating musical notes sways gently on a new, western wind, flowing from a silhouette of pure white and eyes of deepest black. A boy, much the same age as him sits before a colossal backdrop of a stage, a string instrument just as large as the boy playing it leans against him. Expertly, the boy pulls a bow across the front, continuing the harmonic tune that seems to touch the eastern winds tormented soul. He tries to approach, tears biting at his eyes but is reprimanded by an earth-quaking hiss that tears down everything before them.
The instrument in the boy’s hand bursts, shattering into raining splinters all around his feet, the notes evaporating. Gasping, the eastern wind reaches out but something new replaces the instrument in the boy’s hand. Forming, he now grasps a sheening, large dadao blade, an induction gift. The white silhouette stares the eastern wind-down but says nothing. A new slave to this horror. The eastern wind wants so desperately to save him from this but could do nothing.
From then on, the two were together, training their bodies, weapons skills and magic with which both shared the same element. Unlike the eastern wind, the western one was much more attuned for such a life even though he was new to it. It was almost unnatural how quickly he adapted and grew. The great hiss also showed great interest in him, in more ways than one...practically turning a blind, indifferent eye on the eastern wind. A myriad of emotions filled him, swirling colors clawing at his innards to get free. Jealousy, sadness, pain, confusion, and a new feeling he had never felt before…love. This feeling alone was the most powerful, threatening to rip him in twain.
Every moment he was with the western wind, he felt both at ease and ready to combust. This passion only flourished over time, like a towering inferno spread by two powerful gales. These feelings fueled his deepest want for a new life, free from all of this except him. One day it could no longer be contained and he broke down before him, exposing his innermost thoughts.
Tears flow freely where there should no longer be any, his cool façade completely obliterated, practically on his knees before the western wind in hysterics.
No words came from the western wind, he just leaned forward, hugging the eastern wind to him, encasing him in a warmth long forgotten. Everything around them melted into nothingness and it was just the two of them. He begs for it not to end but the scene shifts yet again. He now stands alone, his front illuminated by scorching orange light so hot it near flays his skin.
Off in the distance, a three-story, wooden building is being ravaged by a monstrous fire. Hot blazing fingers of flames shatters the windows, reaching up to the sky in flickering agony. Around it, an enormous, black and white cyclone swirls vehemently. It feeds the fire, howling with such power it stings all of his senses. The eastern wind can only stand, staring ahead in astonished disbelief as the structure is completely destroyed, left nothing but a pile of smoldering ashes in the wake of the tornado.
The last of the storm tapering, he feels his knees buckle under him and he slumps to the ground, realizing that it’s all over. It’s finished. He can finally have the life he’s always wanted now. Flooded with overwhelming relief, he weeps, offering his thanks, until the slightest movement catches his eye. Squinting at the mound of ash, his heart shoots into his throat as it shifts. Abruptly, an impossibly gigantic basilisk blast out, writhing into the sky with a warbling, hissing roar that sends jagged cracks in the ground all the way up to him. Its scales are completely seared and charred black, forked, infected tongue lashes out frantically.
His blood ices over as the bellow ends. Slack-jawed, his fingers curl. “B-Bashe….”
The reptilian head halts and jerks to peer to the east, one eye melted, fangs dripping with rivers of venom. Its maw stretches open, letting out a long, trembling growl. Recoiling back intently, it lunges forward like a crack of lightning, ready to devour him. Just as the jaws hinge around him, his eyes shoot open.
*
He was lying in bed, breathing strained. Sitting up, the handsome man of Asian descent sinks his face into his palms, large muscular form dripping with sweat, drops rolling down the sinewy creases. Already, the nightmare was fleeting, only bits and pieces remaining on his muddled mind. There wasn’t time to linger on this. He had to get to work. Getting up, he showered but was unable to shake these snippets from playing on repeat.
Paying no mind to why he dreamt this, he dried off. Approaching his closet, he grabs his uniform for work which consisted of a plain collared shirt, vest, tie and dress pants. However, before closing the doors, a glint catches him and he couldn’t help but push aside the other clothes to reveal a pair of perfectly glossy, steel hook blades. Lost for a moment, it was only a quick knock that pulled him away and he is able to walk towards his front door.
This is for March’s Victubia theme, a rainy day. I hope that you enjoy it. ^,,^
Word count: 2698
Warnings: Scene of violence.
The sky was chaos, a rolling, dark grey, tumultuous ocean. A torrent blasted the muddy field below, deafening cracks of thunder quaking the air. Streaks of blistering lightning sliced across the sky, curling fingers of monstrous white electricity.
Charging through the slick muck, flaying thick mud with each frantic step, a young man, stung by the heavy, wet blades of rain, searched. Hair drenched, clinging to his face, vision blurred, he continued his breakneck gait, soaked to the very bone, the shuddering cold only staunched by the scorching of his skin. His military grade rifle, strapped to his broad shoulder, jostled against the large, medical knapsack he wore on his back, marking him for what he was, a medic.
He continued on, steadfast, despite his screaming body, breathing harshly, lungs burning, and mind a maelstrom of worried thoughts, coiled, battling neverendingly with hopeful naivety. It was all but impossible to make out the surroundings, a soggy watercolor painting of browns, greens, and greys running together, beset by a draping haze.
By some miracle, his ears were able to discern the sounds of battle through the downpour a few feet ahead, sharp stings of metal ringing out. Gasping, he crested the hill and froze on the spot, a blinding blast of light from above, disorientating him for a second. Once his vision returned, pupils focusing, he caught glimpse of a horrible sight that stopped his heart mid-beat, blood completely icing over.
There, before him, over ten of Minx’s soldiers lay in the dirt, streams of blood marring their purple and gold uniforms, watering into the mud, beyond them, a collection of dead Barr troopers. The hopes he had clung to until that moment were dashed, sunk into the sludge. Tears began to form, throat tightening, until another sharp sound wrenched him out of his misery to a single Minx soldier still standing, just in eyeshot.
This soldier was surrounded by five Barr troopers, brandishing sparkling cutlasses and rapiers, glinting with morbid purpose, though the survivor remained planted to the spot, appearing unperturbed and ready. They encroached on the curly, dark-haired survivor whose weapons were unlike the others, blades of darkened steel, attached to his arms, lifted in a defensive stance.
Everything grew silent as the tense standoff continued, the rain a quiet vale. The medic’s breathing, slipped through cracked lips, body unable to move even an inch. Then like a flash, one of the troopers lunged, thin rapier striking out like a serpent, aimed directly at the survivor's heart. Sucking in, the medic watched in horror as what looked to be a perfect thrust. However, at the exact moment, the rapier was to pierce him, the Minx soldier expertly and instantly sidestepped with a skill the medic had not seen before, slashing out with his right blade. Slicing all the way through, the Barr trooper continued past him, skidding, head sliding off, and body smashing against the mud.
As if to signal the others, the death of their comrade, sent them into a furious rage, converging on the Minx soldier simultaneously, their baleful voices lost. With movements akin to a dance, the survivor twirled and dodged, retaliating with a single slash for each, felling them in a perfect display of blade skill. The battle lasted but only a few seconds and the survivor remained such, still standing, swiping his arm blades, he relieved them of the blood in streaks that drew two crescents around him.
The medic’s mouth hung open, unhinged as he still could not believe what he had just witnessed, lips fumbling over unintelligible whispers. Feeling his voice rise in his throat like a volcano, he prepared to cheer when a single flash of movement, the striking color of red and gold snatched his attention. Another lone trooper appeared out of nowhere, rifle raising in slow motion, steadily aiming up at the survivor, threatening to end it all.
Brows rising high, the medic fluidly unstrapped his own rifle with lightning speed, brought on by white-hot adrenaline and biting anxiety. Everything suddenly slowed to a crawl as the medic found it impossible to aim due to the trickles of rain leaking into his eyes, a slight tremor shaking his arms. However, he did not stop, realizing if he didn’t do something that soldier would die. At the moment, his senses were heightened, the staunch smell of drowned earth and diluted blood filling his senses, manifesting a moist lump in his throat. One eye open, the world seemed to swirl and vibrate around this one trooper, the medic’s heart near beating out of his chest, mouth now agape to let out strained breaths. Cocking the hammer of the rifle, and more out of jittering reflex, he squeezed the trigger, the blast echoing out, louder than the lightning, louder than anything ever before.
As the reverberation settled into the cacophony of rainfall, the medic opened his eyes, realizing he had them closed, gun still poised. Brain catching up, the medic darted his eyes around, seeing the survivor standing where the trooper had been, now lying dead under his blades. However, now the survivor's face was turned towards directly to him. Did he succeed in shooting him? He had no idea, but what mattered was, the soldier was still alive.
Lowering his gun, his instincts took over and the medic started to tumble down the hill, wanting, no, needing to check if the survivor was hurt. On his approach, the survivor returned to his downed compatriots, pointing at them. Coming up alongside them, the medic made out that they weren’t actually dead at all, still writhing slightly on the ground, groaning in pain. He was unsure how he had failed to notice their movements.
“I’m here to help,” the medic shouted over the rain, immediately reprimanded by the survivor’s finger, rising up to his own lips. His warm brown eyes were serious and stoic, boring into him. Up close, the medic could tell that the survivor had to be a few years older than himself but was still young and was rather handsome with an undeniably mysterious air about him.
Lowering his voice, he knelt down, assessing the wounded soldiers with pinpoint focus. All had suffered a bullet wound but not much else. Upon quick first inspection, none appeared to have been hit in a vital area at least, another miracle in itself. Only one remained motionless among the group, a man that looked to be in his fifties with a salt and pepper beard and wide, mortified, milked over, blue eyes. His uniform was more embellished than the others, revealing his rank as captain. A single hole had been shot through his head, no doubt killing him instantly. Bowing his head, Luca gulped down, feeling the immense sadness of losing one of Minx’s trusted captains. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Forcing down his sadness under his duty, and finding his voice again, he spoke up with a tone as professional as he could muster. “My name is Luca. I’m an assigned military medic. Is there anywhere we could take them so I can stabilize them?”
“Riley,” the standing soldier replied quietly, still looking out over the ridge. “And yes, we have a tent set up not far from here.”
“Okay. We are going to have to make multiple trips but if we both carry one it shouldn’t take long. Don’t want to agitate their wounds any further by trying to overextend ourselves.” He wished he had a stretcher or something and more medics but he was alone in this. They would have to do. “You are okay to lift them aren’t you?”
Riley nodded and turned to pick up one of his comrades into his arms, Luca doing the same. “Okay, Riley, my friend. Lead the way please.” All his working out had paid off, the medic having no problem carefully carrying the soldiers to the small encampment, that consisted of only a single purple tent, no doubt shared by their unit alone. Inside, he lay them on the cots already set up. Going back and forth until all had been retrieved, the captain brought last, Luca immediately got to work.
With expert and gentle hands, he removed the bullets that had been embedded in the soldier’s extremities, cleaning and patching up the wounds, all the while, offering comforting words to his patients. With each soldier patched, they thanked him graciously and solemnly. Riley, kept outside the tent, silently guarding the open flap, scanning ahead for any possible attackers, helping to ease the worries of those inside.
It took a good thirty minutes, Luca darting to each person until only a single soldier remained in need of aid. They were yet another attractive individual, a woman with deep russet skin and cropped short, pale blondish hair. With a bloodied hand, they held their shoulder, greeting Luca with a rather smarmy smirk, little pain visible on her tomboyish countenance. “Saved me for last huh? Well, aren’t you a good-looking, muscular piece of medic?” She whistled then winced from the sharp pain, chuckling. “You definitely aren’t what one would expect.”
Luca completely missed her compliment, too focused on attentively fixing up her wound. “Please tell me if I make the pain worse. I’ll be very gentle.”
“What if I like it rough?” They countered.
“You got the wrong medic for that then,” Luca giggled charmingly, trying to keep the blush from his face, reminding himself to be professional. She continued to watch him as he worked, fingers indeed like soft satin.
“Can’t believe we were ambushed instantly upon taking to the field,” she suddenly blurted, possibly to keep her mind occupied upon realizing he was about to remove the bullet. “We all suggested that silly old captain that we should send out a scout before marching. But did he listen? Nooo. Lording his rank over us. Look at him now…”
Luca, perturbed by her egregious remark at the now dead captain, inadvertently jerked the forceps slightly when removing the slug. Not enough to make the wound worse but enough to be painful. Hissing in a deep breath, she stiffened into a plank, muscles tensed tight, glaring at him with fiendish black eyes, lips curled in a furious snarl. “You said you were going to be gentle! Shit!!!”
The entire tent roused, startled by the sudden tantrum, Riley side glancing inside. “I’m so terribly sorry!” Luca yelped, speaking not only to her but to the others, dropping the instrument to the floor with a clink, holding his palms up. His expression was both apologetic and ashamed. “Please forgive me!”
Her countenance softened into a childish pout as she relaxed again, sighing heavily. “Fine, but only because you are so damn good looking.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Luca nodded repeatedly. Finishing her up with great care, he apologized again.
“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “How old are you anyway? Maybe you can make it up to me with a date?”
Suddenly feeling nervous, taken aback by her out of the blue offer, he rubbed a hand through his wet hair “I-I’m eighteen…”
Thin brows shooting up, she stared at him incredulously before chuckling disappointingly as if he had done something wrong. “Damn. Too young for my tastes. You got my hopes up for nothing.”
Not sure how to even reply to such a thing he simply apologized yet again. “Ah well. Guess Imma just rest now, thanks.”
“My pleasure, soldier.”
She scoffed at that. “Lucia.”
“Oh. That’s a pretty name.”
“Don’t go trying to charm me now. You heard my answer.”
“I wasn’t…” Luca stifled a laugh causing Lucia to squint her eyes suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just that, my name is Luca. We are only one letter away from having the same name.” He let out a soft snort and she almost made the exact same sound.
“You are a special kind of medic, Luca. Now, let me stew over how little we actually were able to do in this war. What a bloody letdown.”
Wanting to argue with her that, he decided against it and just nodded, Luca, moving over to Riley who shook his head without looking at him. “I’m fine.”
Luca wanted to persist but he did not want to impede in his duty, so he went back to check on everyone. Things grew silent in the camp, the sound of rain continuing to drone, neverendingly tapping against the tent’s exterior. There was an uneasiness on the faces of the others as time went on despite the fact that they were now stabilized and protected from the rain. Anxious whispers wafted through of a possible raid by some other unit within Barr’s rebellious forces. Luca did what he could to keep spirits up but, he couldn’t deny the sinking fear that it could happen, the mere thought prickling the hair on his thick arms to stand on end.
Over an hour of tense quiet, and a new sound peaked over the rain, a rumbling collection of splashes coming from behind the tent alerted everyone to freeze. Shadowed figures filtered from the other side of the fabric of the tent, revealing no less than forty marching around it, bayonetted rifles held before them. Luca’s muscles clenched tight as he watched Riley’s back, waiting for the inevitable to happen. He could not stop his mind from reeling, holding his breath for far too long.
“What happened here?” a mighty, heavily Caribbean accented female voice demanded, her form veiled just out of sight.
Riley promptly saluted, sending a wave of relief over the tent's occupants. “Major. We were ambushed and took a volley. One casualty, the captain. A medic showed up out of nowhere and helped me bring them back to camp and gave them all prompt medical attention.”
“Thank you, soldier,” the voice replied calmly, passing to stand in the entryway.
Luca blinked at the tall woman, standing a couple inches over him, her body athletic, dressed in a major’s uniform, right arm exposed and tattooed with tribal designs. Her hair was long coils of black and teal that was tied back, a few dreadlocks hanging in her angular, mesmerizingly powerful face. Tracing over the group once over, twice over, she then locked onto Luca, the only one standing within.
“Are you the medic he spoke of?”
Instantly, he shot up straight, and saluted her, knowing full well who she was. “Yes, Major!” He yelled, voice cracking slightly.
She gave him a subdued but genuine smile. “By helping to save these soldiers, you have done a great service to her majesty. The next time I speak with the Queen, I will mention your heroic deed. What is your name?”
Already needing to fight back tears, his chest welling up with warmth, he sniffed loudly, trying to not embarrass himself. “My name is Luca, Major! I do not deserve such an honor! I only did what little I could to help her majesties grand and brave soldiers.” He peeked past her to Riley. “However, if I may. It was Riley who single-handedly fought back the remaining troopers to ensure I could even help at all! Without him, I dare not imagine what horrible fate awaited us.”
Turning her head to him, she gave him an acknowledging nod. “I will, of course, be sure to mention his overwhelming contribution as well.” She addressed everyone now, her fervent tone, rousing and inspiring, those that once lay, sitting up on their cots. “With things as they are, the captain killed in action, this unit shall now fall under my command. Know that it is not forced upon you, should you be too hurt to continue on, remain here and rest…but. If any of you can still fight, I ask that you join me as we continue to march forward to help drive this treacherous rebellion into the ground, so that it may be completely washed away by the rain.”
Feeling utterly enthralled and uplifted by her speech, Luca and a few others, including Lucia rose up despite their wounds, their voices melting together into a rallied roar. “Yes, Major! By her majesties glory, we shall see them defeated, swept away by the mighty rain!”
my ocs freddy and ulga who got married in the rain ! they were together since their late 20s, got married mid 30s and are still happily married in their late 40s. they now have 2 adopted kids. thanks for coming to my ted talk
This month’s theme was a bit difficult. I was thinking “Should I do just people seeing the rain or something more complicated?”. In the end, I just had to draw rain.
I really wanted to draw a sup guy by a puddle. Who is that man that is a “reflection”?
