clach na ben (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
clachnaben) wrote2020-08-12 04:01 pm
clachnaben) wrote2020-08-12 04:01 pm
Entry tags:
WIP Wednesday
more WIP snippets!! save me I am drowning in wips
Old Guard, doc name "stabbing and fucking"
Their dreams were troubled, of late. Nicolo had told him of his dreams of a tall woman on a white horse, her axe dripping blood, and the archer from the East, fierce and blood-thirsty. Yusuf had seen them also, in his dreams, these soldier women that could not die, who searched for them across the world. He did not know if he wanted to find them. Nicolo did. They argued about it more with every passing day.
“They are like us Yusuf!” he said, when they made camp on the way to Harran, thumping his hand against his chest. He would always slam something, his sword onto the table, the door he was standing in, his hand against the ground when they were travelling. He had a temper that only seemed to come out when he argued with Yusuf. “We should try and find them!”
“And how will we find them, these warrior women? We do not know their names, or where they stay?” he said. “Be reasonable, we do not even know if they are real.”
“You!” Nicolo said in frustration. “You cannot feel those dreams and tell me they are not real. They are the same dreams I had of you!”
Yusuf wanted to ask him why he was not happy with him, why did he want these killer women in their life. Was Yusuf, who had given everything to him, not enough? He had died and lived, killed and hunted, run and cheated, broken the oaths of his word, all to stay at Nicolo's side. Was Yusuf’s sacrifice not enough? What more could Nicolo want from him?
“May he damn your face,” Yusuf said, angry and disappointed in himself, frustrated with Nicolo’s constant pushing. He wished he could just shake Nicolo until he listened, and reached for the baldric strap over his shoulder, pulling at him roughly.
Nicolo grunted, but didn’t resist. It was always like this - Yusuf didn’t know what he was going to do until it was happening, their mouths against each other, Nicolo’s breath hot on him. Yusuf yearned to cut him open, to see him bleed and know that he was as affected as Yusuf was.
Old Guard, my Andy/Nile wip
“I do speak French you know,” Nile said, when their wine and food arrived; piles of thick french fries, a soup so thick it might as well have been sauce, chunks of meat floating in it.
“I know,” Andy said, her mouth full, licking sauce off her fingers. “Copley showed me your file.”
“Really?” Nile said, eating a little more slowly, picking through the fries and bread. “What did it say?”
Andy smiled, one of her legs out at an angle, her ankle hooked around the leg of the table.
“Spanish, French, excellent firearm stats,” she said, still eating. Nile had eaten several meals with the team now, and Andy never seemed to enjoy them less. “Glowing references from your commanding officers. You were a good soldier.”
Nile took a sip of her wine, against the lump in her throat. She had been a good soldier. She’d liked it; the structure, the community, the hard work, the sense of a greater purpose. It seemed like small fry now. What were the goals of the US Marine Corps to a woman 6,000 years old, older than the nation Nile had served, older than the God she believed in?
“You would know,” she said, and Andy smiled, shook her head.
“I’d be a terrible soldier now. The last time I followed orders was on the plains of the Pontic, cutting down Thracians like wheat,” she said, casually. She gestured with her arm in an echo of her axe swing. “You’ve got talents.”
Old Guard, doc name "stabbing and fucking"
Their dreams were troubled, of late. Nicolo had told him of his dreams of a tall woman on a white horse, her axe dripping blood, and the archer from the East, fierce and blood-thirsty. Yusuf had seen them also, in his dreams, these soldier women that could not die, who searched for them across the world. He did not know if he wanted to find them. Nicolo did. They argued about it more with every passing day.
“They are like us Yusuf!” he said, when they made camp on the way to Harran, thumping his hand against his chest. He would always slam something, his sword onto the table, the door he was standing in, his hand against the ground when they were travelling. He had a temper that only seemed to come out when he argued with Yusuf. “We should try and find them!”
“And how will we find them, these warrior women? We do not know their names, or where they stay?” he said. “Be reasonable, we do not even know if they are real.”
“You!” Nicolo said in frustration. “You cannot feel those dreams and tell me they are not real. They are the same dreams I had of you!”
Yusuf wanted to ask him why he was not happy with him, why did he want these killer women in their life. Was Yusuf, who had given everything to him, not enough? He had died and lived, killed and hunted, run and cheated, broken the oaths of his word, all to stay at Nicolo's side. Was Yusuf’s sacrifice not enough? What more could Nicolo want from him?
“May he damn your face,” Yusuf said, angry and disappointed in himself, frustrated with Nicolo’s constant pushing. He wished he could just shake Nicolo until he listened, and reached for the baldric strap over his shoulder, pulling at him roughly.
Nicolo grunted, but didn’t resist. It was always like this - Yusuf didn’t know what he was going to do until it was happening, their mouths against each other, Nicolo’s breath hot on him. Yusuf yearned to cut him open, to see him bleed and know that he was as affected as Yusuf was.
Old Guard, my Andy/Nile wip
“I do speak French you know,” Nile said, when their wine and food arrived; piles of thick french fries, a soup so thick it might as well have been sauce, chunks of meat floating in it.
“I know,” Andy said, her mouth full, licking sauce off her fingers. “Copley showed me your file.”
“Really?” Nile said, eating a little more slowly, picking through the fries and bread. “What did it say?”
Andy smiled, one of her legs out at an angle, her ankle hooked around the leg of the table.
“Spanish, French, excellent firearm stats,” she said, still eating. Nile had eaten several meals with the team now, and Andy never seemed to enjoy them less. “Glowing references from your commanding officers. You were a good soldier.”
Nile took a sip of her wine, against the lump in her throat. She had been a good soldier. She’d liked it; the structure, the community, the hard work, the sense of a greater purpose. It seemed like small fry now. What were the goals of the US Marine Corps to a woman 6,000 years old, older than the nation Nile had served, older than the God she believed in?
“You would know,” she said, and Andy smiled, shook her head.
“I’d be a terrible soldier now. The last time I followed orders was on the plains of the Pontic, cutting down Thracians like wheat,” she said, casually. She gestured with her arm in an echo of her axe swing. “You’ve got talents.”