Writing [Owen and the Death-guardian]
Sep. 7th, 2005 09:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pipistrellafelixMmm...more stuff I wrote a while ago and am now fiddling with again. She hasn't got a name; also she sucks the life out of people occasionally, but that comes up later, in a probably stupid and badly done clever plot device, haha.
She hit him from behind, a flying tackle, and before he had any time to react she had pinned him to the ground, his sword clamped firmly to his side with her knee, her hand choking his throat.
His neck was warm, and his pulse was thumping wildly under her fingers. She froze. “You’re alive,” she said, and scrambled off him as if he were diseased.
“Of course I’m alive,” he muttered, rubbing his throat. “What’s wrong with you?”
She narrowed her eyes, still sitting in a feral crouch. “Nothing’s alive here,” she told him, then sat back on her heels and watched him unabashedly. He glared back, and it took him another moment before he realized she wasn’t human.
“You’ve got wings!” It was his turn to scrabble backward slightly.
“Of course I’ve got wings,” she returned, in a cruel imitation of his tone earlier. “Where do you think you are?”
“You’re not an angel, are you?”
She snorted. “Do I look like an angel to you?”
He studied her. Her wings were small, bedraggled and dirty. Her hair hung in a loose tail, and her dress and trousers were ripped, badly mended, and muddy. “You look like an angel that fell in a puddle,” he said finally.
She glared at him for a moment, then snorted. “Something like that,” she said. “Now you answer my question. What are you doing here?”
He shoved himself to his feet and brushed himself off pointedly. “None of your business,” he said.
She scrambled up. “You’re in Death,” she said. “And you’re alive.” Her eyes narrowed again. “So either you’re a child of the gods”—-her look said clearly that she didn’t really think that was true—-“or you’re a hero on some kind of quest.”
He straightened up, doing his best to look dignified. “I am neither,” he announced. When she continued staring at him, he shifted slightly. “Why do you need to know?”
“We guard this area,” she said, as though the words were routine. “We must know your name, and we must know your death, and we must know what you intend. We cannot let you through otherwise.”
“We?” He glanced around. The land was rocky, scrub trees and bushes struggling in the gray dust—-but very empty. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“My companion is elsewhere,” she said. “Listen, all I have to know is your name and how you died.” She paused. “Let me rephrase that. All I have to know is your name and how you got here, since you’re obviously not dead at all.”
He sighed. “Owen Falconer,” he said. “And I fell.”
She blinked. “You what, now?”
“I fell,” Owen repeated. “I was running, and I tripped, and I fell. Down a long hill, through some trees. And then I slid down a rock and ended up here. Well, back there a bit,” he added, waving a hand behind him. “I have no idea where I am.”
Also: Icon Meme...
Comment and I'll pick one of your LJ interests and make you an icon. You have no say in what I make an icon of!Put this in your journal so I can do the same. (Only if you want to.) (Um...and if you comment for the story or something else, tell me if you want the icon too. Otherwise I'll be a confused monkey. And that state of affairs is only useful for plot propulsion, and even then only for a paragraph or two.)
And thirdly: Hot damn, I love this job. Haha...oh man. I'm going to really have to force myself to do homework during the school year, instead of sitting here reading novels...
She hit him from behind, a flying tackle, and before he had any time to react she had pinned him to the ground, his sword clamped firmly to his side with her knee, her hand choking his throat.
His neck was warm, and his pulse was thumping wildly under her fingers. She froze. “You’re alive,” she said, and scrambled off him as if he were diseased.
“Of course I’m alive,” he muttered, rubbing his throat. “What’s wrong with you?”
She narrowed her eyes, still sitting in a feral crouch. “Nothing’s alive here,” she told him, then sat back on her heels and watched him unabashedly. He glared back, and it took him another moment before he realized she wasn’t human.
“You’ve got wings!” It was his turn to scrabble backward slightly.
“Of course I’ve got wings,” she returned, in a cruel imitation of his tone earlier. “Where do you think you are?”
“You’re not an angel, are you?”
She snorted. “Do I look like an angel to you?”
He studied her. Her wings were small, bedraggled and dirty. Her hair hung in a loose tail, and her dress and trousers were ripped, badly mended, and muddy. “You look like an angel that fell in a puddle,” he said finally.
She glared at him for a moment, then snorted. “Something like that,” she said. “Now you answer my question. What are you doing here?”
He shoved himself to his feet and brushed himself off pointedly. “None of your business,” he said.
She scrambled up. “You’re in Death,” she said. “And you’re alive.” Her eyes narrowed again. “So either you’re a child of the gods”—-her look said clearly that she didn’t really think that was true—-“or you’re a hero on some kind of quest.”
He straightened up, doing his best to look dignified. “I am neither,” he announced. When she continued staring at him, he shifted slightly. “Why do you need to know?”
“We guard this area,” she said, as though the words were routine. “We must know your name, and we must know your death, and we must know what you intend. We cannot let you through otherwise.”
“We?” He glanced around. The land was rocky, scrub trees and bushes struggling in the gray dust—-but very empty. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“My companion is elsewhere,” she said. “Listen, all I have to know is your name and how you died.” She paused. “Let me rephrase that. All I have to know is your name and how you got here, since you’re obviously not dead at all.”
He sighed. “Owen Falconer,” he said. “And I fell.”
She blinked. “You what, now?”
“I fell,” Owen repeated. “I was running, and I tripped, and I fell. Down a long hill, through some trees. And then I slid down a rock and ended up here. Well, back there a bit,” he added, waving a hand behind him. “I have no idea where I am.”
Also: Icon Meme...
Comment and I'll pick one of your LJ interests and make you an icon. You have no say in what I make an icon of!
And thirdly: Hot damn, I love this job. Haha...oh man. I'm going to really have to force myself to do homework during the school year, instead of sitting here reading novels...
