justfuckingtryit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
justfuckingtryit) wrote2020-10-11 08:41 pm
justfuckingtryit) wrote2020-10-11 08:41 pm
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Memory 6: RIP frittata
The frittata has fifteen more minutes in the oven when the sirens go off.
"Fuck," says Lumen, with feeling.
He'd been leaning against the kitchen counter with a book, but he pushes off and sets it aside – upside-down on the countertop, and isn't that going to fuck the spine, but there's more important things to worry about right now.
"Suri!" he bellows, away down the hall, as he wrenches open the oven door.
The frittata looks pretty good, considering they don't have milk or cheese. It's got an onion and their egg ration for the week, and a couple of handfuls of potato skins, besides.
Lumen's pretty sure taking it out early and finishing it later's going to fuck it up good, but there's no helping it. He turns off the oven and reaches inside – takes the cast-iron pan by the handle, the oven-hot metal nothing more than a pleasant warmth against his palm.
He crams the whole thing into the otherwise empty fridge – the pan's going to be fucked, too, from the temperature shift – but there'll be time to worry about that later.
Suri's already in the hallway, recognizable to anyone who's met pep!pep!'s Cobalt, though this version has no antlers, and Lumen kicks the fridge shut and goes to join him, shoving his feet into a pair of beat up combat boots.
They have the door open a few seconds later and are pressing out into the night. Above, there are no moon or stars, but the pathway they exit onto overlooks a chasm filled with crystals glowing a soft and ethereal blue. The chasm serves as a moat around a circular building that rises up toward the sky, metal latticework bridges connecting it to the brown brick of the walkway far below.
It would be a stunning view, if not for the earsplitting wail of the siren.
Lumen scarcely spares it a glance before he turns away; then his boots are pounding the pavement, Suri beside him and gaining ground, and damn his longer legs. They run through the city streets, a tangle of crooked walkways and old stone buildings, cracked walls and laundry lines full of dripping clothes. Anxious faces peer out from the warmly-lit glow of windows high overhead; on the streets, more men and women spill from the buildings to answer the siren, half asleep and still in their pajamas.
When they reach the wall, it's still standing.
Lumen shoulders his way through the cluster of civilians gathered around to watch – ducks his head, and makes for the makeshift gate that keeps the city safe from what's outside it.
"Let us through," he snaps, and up goes the gate.
It's a nightmare beyond the wall, but that's nothing new. Shadows boil up from the bricks that pave the sidewalk, and everywhere they touch, creatures form. There are small twisted things that skitter and snicker, eyes gleaming. There are wraithlike shapes that seem to have no solid form. There are hulking figures of heat and metal that tower taller than a building, wielding swords as long as they are tall.
And there are the people who have been cut down by them already, collapsed and bleeding on the pavement.
He doesn't have to share a glance with Suri to know what the plan is; the sturdy metal form of a massive shuriken spins through the air to the right of him, and then there's a flash of light and Suri is there with it, trying to force back the iron giant.
Lumen holds his hand out, and a spear drops into it as though from nowhere, with a soft flicker of light.
He hauls back with the weapon, like he’s throwing a javelin – lets it fly through the night, toward the man collapsed on the other side of the road. When it’s reached the end of its arc, he probes after it, and the glimmer of magic swallows him up.
He slips into the between spaces of the world, just for an instant – knows a moment of blur and light and disorientation as he vanishes and then reappears again, in time to catch the spear.
The man at his feet is barely breathing. Every breath in gurgles; every breath out comes with a pained whine.
Lumen doesn't kneel down to examine him – doesn't even check his face, to see if he knows him. He only spreads his arms wide and calls the magic again, a faint green glow that suffuses the area in tiny motes of light.
The daemons have started to take notice, now; they're turning this way, more shadows boiling up out of the street just to the left of them.
"Fuck," says Lumen, and casts the spell again. When he looks down, the hole in the man's side is mostly closed. "Get up, you fucker."
The man's still staggering to his feet when the first of the daemons reach them.
Its claws cut through Lumen's stomach; the nails are viciously sharp, piercing as easy as any blade, scraping along the bone of his ribs as they pass.
Lumen grits his teeth – gets his spear up – shoves it through the thing, hard enough to force it backward, detaching its claws from the place they're embedded in his skin. Blood spatters to the brick walkway; he sways slightly, and staggers.
Then he sets his jaw, and lifts his arms, and green light fills the air, knitting his skin closed.
Behind him, the man is drawing a weapon of his own. In front of him, Suri is performing improbable feats of acrobatics mid-air, all flashes of light and whirring blades as he keeps the giant distracted.
Lumen lets the spear fade again. He lifts his empty hand, and the scent of ozone suffuses the area.
Lightning forks through the sky; it radiates out from his palm, and three of the daemons nearest shriek in agony, dissipated to smoke and shadow.
More are already rising up to take their place, so Lumen squares his jaw and steps forward to meet them.
===
He kicks his boots off by the door. When he braces against the wall, he leaves a smear of blood behind, but that's a problem for later.
And if he walks a little off-center on the way to the kitchen, well, blood loss does that.
"Fuck," says Lumen, when he opens the fridge.
"What?" says Suri, poking his head around the side of the door.
"The fucking pan cracked," says Lumen, like he hadn't known it would, and reaches out to turn the oven back on, anyway.
"Fuck," says Lumen, with feeling.
He'd been leaning against the kitchen counter with a book, but he pushes off and sets it aside – upside-down on the countertop, and isn't that going to fuck the spine, but there's more important things to worry about right now.
"Suri!" he bellows, away down the hall, as he wrenches open the oven door.
The frittata looks pretty good, considering they don't have milk or cheese. It's got an onion and their egg ration for the week, and a couple of handfuls of potato skins, besides.
Lumen's pretty sure taking it out early and finishing it later's going to fuck it up good, but there's no helping it. He turns off the oven and reaches inside – takes the cast-iron pan by the handle, the oven-hot metal nothing more than a pleasant warmth against his palm.
He crams the whole thing into the otherwise empty fridge – the pan's going to be fucked, too, from the temperature shift – but there'll be time to worry about that later.
Suri's already in the hallway, recognizable to anyone who's met pep!pep!'s Cobalt, though this version has no antlers, and Lumen kicks the fridge shut and goes to join him, shoving his feet into a pair of beat up combat boots.
They have the door open a few seconds later and are pressing out into the night. Above, there are no moon or stars, but the pathway they exit onto overlooks a chasm filled with crystals glowing a soft and ethereal blue. The chasm serves as a moat around a circular building that rises up toward the sky, metal latticework bridges connecting it to the brown brick of the walkway far below.
It would be a stunning view, if not for the earsplitting wail of the siren.
Lumen scarcely spares it a glance before he turns away; then his boots are pounding the pavement, Suri beside him and gaining ground, and damn his longer legs. They run through the city streets, a tangle of crooked walkways and old stone buildings, cracked walls and laundry lines full of dripping clothes. Anxious faces peer out from the warmly-lit glow of windows high overhead; on the streets, more men and women spill from the buildings to answer the siren, half asleep and still in their pajamas.
When they reach the wall, it's still standing.
Lumen shoulders his way through the cluster of civilians gathered around to watch – ducks his head, and makes for the makeshift gate that keeps the city safe from what's outside it.
"Let us through," he snaps, and up goes the gate.
It's a nightmare beyond the wall, but that's nothing new. Shadows boil up from the bricks that pave the sidewalk, and everywhere they touch, creatures form. There are small twisted things that skitter and snicker, eyes gleaming. There are wraithlike shapes that seem to have no solid form. There are hulking figures of heat and metal that tower taller than a building, wielding swords as long as they are tall.
And there are the people who have been cut down by them already, collapsed and bleeding on the pavement.
He doesn't have to share a glance with Suri to know what the plan is; the sturdy metal form of a massive shuriken spins through the air to the right of him, and then there's a flash of light and Suri is there with it, trying to force back the iron giant.
Lumen holds his hand out, and a spear drops into it as though from nowhere, with a soft flicker of light.
He hauls back with the weapon, like he’s throwing a javelin – lets it fly through the night, toward the man collapsed on the other side of the road. When it’s reached the end of its arc, he probes after it, and the glimmer of magic swallows him up.
He slips into the between spaces of the world, just for an instant – knows a moment of blur and light and disorientation as he vanishes and then reappears again, in time to catch the spear.
The man at his feet is barely breathing. Every breath in gurgles; every breath out comes with a pained whine.
Lumen doesn't kneel down to examine him – doesn't even check his face, to see if he knows him. He only spreads his arms wide and calls the magic again, a faint green glow that suffuses the area in tiny motes of light.
The daemons have started to take notice, now; they're turning this way, more shadows boiling up out of the street just to the left of them.
"Fuck," says Lumen, and casts the spell again. When he looks down, the hole in the man's side is mostly closed. "Get up, you fucker."
The man's still staggering to his feet when the first of the daemons reach them.
Its claws cut through Lumen's stomach; the nails are viciously sharp, piercing as easy as any blade, scraping along the bone of his ribs as they pass.
Lumen grits his teeth – gets his spear up – shoves it through the thing, hard enough to force it backward, detaching its claws from the place they're embedded in his skin. Blood spatters to the brick walkway; he sways slightly, and staggers.
Then he sets his jaw, and lifts his arms, and green light fills the air, knitting his skin closed.
Behind him, the man is drawing a weapon of his own. In front of him, Suri is performing improbable feats of acrobatics mid-air, all flashes of light and whirring blades as he keeps the giant distracted.
Lumen lets the spear fade again. He lifts his empty hand, and the scent of ozone suffuses the area.
Lightning forks through the sky; it radiates out from his palm, and three of the daemons nearest shriek in agony, dissipated to smoke and shadow.
More are already rising up to take their place, so Lumen squares his jaw and steps forward to meet them.
===
He kicks his boots off by the door. When he braces against the wall, he leaves a smear of blood behind, but that's a problem for later.
And if he walks a little off-center on the way to the kitchen, well, blood loss does that.
"Fuck," says Lumen, when he opens the fridge.
"What?" says Suri, poking his head around the side of the door.
"The fucking pan cracked," says Lumen, like he hadn't known it would, and reaches out to turn the oven back on, anyway.