Also for
gehayi.
War’s just arrived in Europe when she sees him, standing in front of a coffee shop. He’s obviously been waiting for her, and their eyes meet across the crowd of angry, swarming humanity. War pushes a few people out of her way as she goes towards him, and they shout and get their revenge on those nearest.
Destruction is big, built like an above scale model of a man, and he towers over her so that she’s stepping into his shade as well as that of the canopy roof. He’s holding a cappuccino – large, she guesses, although it looks like an espresso in his hand.
He looks at her, grins, and takes a sip.
“Well, hey,” she says in a low voice. “I thought you were out of this game.”
“I am,” he says. His lips are twitching, like he’s trying not to laugh, but she’s known him long enough not to wonder what might have amused him.
“Oh,” she says, disappointed. “Just come to wish me luck?”
“No.” He drains the rest of his coffee – free trade, she notices, and the other stamp is pro-environment – and places the cup carefully in a recycling container. When he looks at her again, his expression is almost serious. “Don’t go.”
“What does that mean? ‘Don’t go?’” There’s a couple sitting in front of the coffee shop, and they suddenly burst into a high-pitched screaming match. She snarls, “Just because you decided to run off and play human-” But now he’s grinning again, on the verge of laughter, and she can’t continue. She places a hand to the side of her head and says, “Why, then. This is big, for me – for you too, if you wanted. The way everything’s set up right now, it’s going to be huge.”
“Then it’s going to be huge,” he says, “whether you’re there or not. They don’t need us. They may need war, and they may need destruction, but they don’t need us.”
“I need me,” she says, her voice low this time to be dangerous. The sound of car horns and smashing metal carries over from a nearby street, and the couple at the coffee shop has flipped over their table. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
He leans towards her in a quick, sudden movement; but the kiss is gentle, all soft lips and supple tongue and sharp, sharp teeth.
In answer, she pushes him roughly against the glass wall of the shop and takes his lip between her teeth, hard enough to remind him she could make it hurt. Somebody throws a chair, knocking down the canopy; in sunlight his hair is the orange of flame and hers is a deeper red, the colour of blood.
They spend a week together. Seven days of freshly-made hotel rooms, and the yielding of power and flesh, and visiting little out-of-the-way cafes where waitresses scream at each other and dishes break.
And halfway across the world guns fire and buildings fall and people die in agony, and they do it all on their own.
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War’s just arrived in Europe when she sees him, standing in front of a coffee shop. He’s obviously been waiting for her, and their eyes meet across the crowd of angry, swarming humanity. War pushes a few people out of her way as she goes towards him, and they shout and get their revenge on those nearest.
Destruction is big, built like an above scale model of a man, and he towers over her so that she’s stepping into his shade as well as that of the canopy roof. He’s holding a cappuccino – large, she guesses, although it looks like an espresso in his hand.
He looks at her, grins, and takes a sip.
“Well, hey,” she says in a low voice. “I thought you were out of this game.”
“I am,” he says. His lips are twitching, like he’s trying not to laugh, but she’s known him long enough not to wonder what might have amused him.
“Oh,” she says, disappointed. “Just come to wish me luck?”
“No.” He drains the rest of his coffee – free trade, she notices, and the other stamp is pro-environment – and places the cup carefully in a recycling container. When he looks at her again, his expression is almost serious. “Don’t go.”
“What does that mean? ‘Don’t go?’” There’s a couple sitting in front of the coffee shop, and they suddenly burst into a high-pitched screaming match. She snarls, “Just because you decided to run off and play human-” But now he’s grinning again, on the verge of laughter, and she can’t continue. She places a hand to the side of her head and says, “Why, then. This is big, for me – for you too, if you wanted. The way everything’s set up right now, it’s going to be huge.”
“Then it’s going to be huge,” he says, “whether you’re there or not. They don’t need us. They may need war, and they may need destruction, but they don’t need us.”
“I need me,” she says, her voice low this time to be dangerous. The sound of car horns and smashing metal carries over from a nearby street, and the couple at the coffee shop has flipped over their table. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
He leans towards her in a quick, sudden movement; but the kiss is gentle, all soft lips and supple tongue and sharp, sharp teeth.
In answer, she pushes him roughly against the glass wall of the shop and takes his lip between her teeth, hard enough to remind him she could make it hurt. Somebody throws a chair, knocking down the canopy; in sunlight his hair is the orange of flame and hers is a deeper red, the colour of blood.
They spend a week together. Seven days of freshly-made hotel rooms, and the yielding of power and flesh, and visiting little out-of-the-way cafes where waitresses scream at each other and dishes break.
And halfway across the world guns fire and buildings fall and people die in agony, and they do it all on their own.
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Perfect line.
I love it overall, but that line...wow. Ouch.
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*points at Mel's comment*
What she said.
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Or... do I? (Mwahaha)
*points at above comment*
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