vulturing

[vulturing]

his hand is shaking. there is fear coursing through his veins, soaking into his bones. what happened to his steady hand? his eyes close for a moment, brows furrowing as he tries to comprehend what was happening. jake. jake was standing right in front of him, and he had a knife to his throat. even as jake pushed the knife away, he fought it. what was he doing? his hand finally dropped to his side, the knife dropping to the dirt below. his breath shook. "then this is hell," andrew finally said, his voice hoarse, cracking. it was like the life, the fight was suddenly sucked out of him: shoulders dropped, dark eyes looking up at jake in the moonlight, shining. he lifted his hand, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe at his cheek. "you're alive."

jake had spent a lot of time wondering why he was alive, why he was the only one who made it out. there would always be a part of him that wondered if he would have been better off standing steady and tall on those gallows beside his family. he'd fantasized countless times about yelling out some bullshit about rebellion, about rousing the crowd into a frenzy, about making eye contact with his best friend through the chaos before the floor gave out from beneath him. but when he came back to reality... he realized, how tall could a seventeen year old boy really have stood when surrounded by towering walls designed to dominate? how could he have shouted with a gag in his mouth? how could he have found andrew through beaten, bruised eyes? there was no world in which he was better off back behind those walls, but he'd risked his life countless times doing it anyway, fighting his way through guards and blockades and rescuing as many people as he could along the way. he'd like to say that he did it for revenge, or for justice, and while those things were important to him... they were dwarfed by his intense need to find andrew blaine. he'd never felt like that about a person before, and he refused to let those feelings die. in the past fifteen years, he'd held on tight to that dream. and now, it was standing in front of him. it had a knife to his neck. jake took one last step forward -- he willingly pressed his flesh against the blade. reaching up, he wrapped his fingers around the wrist that held it, and tried to gently ease it down and away. he stood, steady and tall in the face of the crown prince. " 𝐢𝐟 𝐢'𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐨. " he said, staring at andrew with bright, shining eyes, begging him to see reason. " 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐮𝐬, 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭? "

[vulturing]

dark eyes are round, scared — startled, is the easiest word to describe the emotions swirling around the man's features. his boots skitter across the dirt as he takes a half-step back, gaze sweeping up and down the man in front of him. it dawns on him: [ㅤ𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙰𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴. 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃.ㅤ] andrew lets out a shaky breath, but still — he doesn't say anything, at least not yet. he steps forward, this time, curiosity running through his aching bones. "who am... i?" the voice that passed his lips was low, scratchy — unused, from days of walking alone. a short, sharp breath leaves his lips. who was he, but a scared boy? a lost escapee? "who are you?" it is a challenge, leveled at his own mirror image. he wasn't sure.

he'd be lying if he said he hadn't heard of strange happenings in trench. read the accounts of citizens driven mad by the vastness of the landscape. those who returned to dema - the fpes - they often had stories of the incomprehensible things they'd witnessed. he didn't know how much truth was there. his own first encounters having been muffled by his returns to dema.

now, approaching the clifftop, clancy has to question whether this was the right decision. every other attempt at this had failed. he was too stubborn to accept it, though. he almost loses his footing, but is able to recover, hoisting himself up and over the edge. only to be met with a moment that feels like looking directly into a mirror. doe eyes scan up and down, and he's shocked into what he can only describe as hesitant silence. he tries to find his words but comes up short, all attempts getting stuck in his throat.

he blinks a few times, even reaching up to rub at his eyes thinking that might somehow help him. "you..." is the first thing to finally muster itself. "you're.." me he almost says, but he stops himself. that's impossible. "who are you?"

[vulturing]

his chest heaved as he watched the man near him; andrew wanted to skitter backwards, but something told him not to — but kept that dagger up and pointed at him. at jake. there was no softening of his expression, but dark eyes flickered over that scarred arm. they were so young, when that happened, so naive. andrew hadn't quite dismantled the fact that the bishops weren't there to protect them. he lets out a shaky breath, and then the man's hand was settling against him. he jumped back. his face paled; he looked like he had just seen a ghost. "you're dead," andrew breathed out, his voice low, those dark eyes full of confusion. he had spent so long convincing himself of that fact that when confronted with the opposite. but andrew's eyes were softening, and tears were welling up, spilling down his face silently. his grip on the knife shifted, taking a sharp breath inward. he could ask him to prove to him that he was jake — the evidence was right there in front of him. his free hand raised to his forehead, fingers pressing against the skin there. "you're dead."

jake kept his eyes locked on andrew's face, watching for a reaction, trying to gauge whether this was going to be a happy reunion or an angry one. he wouldn't blame andrew for one second for being pissed off at him, but -- god, did he just want to pull the man into his arms. the feeling was overwhelming. he nodded when he heard his name, dark eyes going soft. he'd spent so many nights wondering if he'd ever hear that voice again; it was so strange to hear how it had changed. he'd left a scared boy behind in that city, and looking at the ragged man that was standing in front of him now... jake couldn't help but wonder if they were even remotely the same person anymore. " 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐞, " he said again. jake took a step forward, and then another. each was carefully weighed, looking for any shift in andrew's posture or change in expression. but he didn't stop until he was less than a foot away, the air closing in around them as he breached that personal space. their eyes met. he held out a hand and carefully settled his fingertips against one of andrew's forearms. " 𝐢'𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. "

[vulturing]

tears had begun to leak from andrew's eyes, leaving trails in the dirt on his face as he neared the other man; just thinking about the letter was sending him into his memories: the sirens going off, echoing through the city, running through the narrow allies, finding the empty taylor home. suddenly he was fifteen again, sinking to his knees in jake's bedroom, trembling hands holding onto the letter, holding it to his chest, and doubling over. it hurt to think about, even now. the other man didn't speak, just held up his hands. he didn't give andrew an answer of how he knew those secrets that andrew had kept all those years. he never told anyone. not about jake: no one would have approved of their friendship in the first place, not even jake's family, considering andrew's position. andrew wanted to scream in his face. then his jacket was in the dirt, and andrew was staggering back. his features softened, letting the dagger slip to the ground, a sharp breath pushing past his lips. he stared at the man's arm. he stood there, frozen for a few moments, unable to react. he was so convinced that jake was dead; he'd never come back for him, and andrew thought he'd find him so much sooner. "jake?" his voice cracked.

" ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ? " because he'd rushed upstairs in the middle of the night to find a pen. because he'd watched his tears fall and warp the words. because he had risked everything to write it. if his parents, or the rebels they were indebted to, knew that he had left that behind... a letter to the head bishop's son? they would have fed him to the wolves on the other side of the wall. jake was shoved abruptly back into those memories, remembering how frightened his mother had looked when he broke free from her grasp to run upstairs; remembered his baby brother bawling in her arms; remembered his sisters holding each other and crying for him to come back. there had been a moment where he looked out his window, off into the city, wondering how badly it would hurt if he jumped. he could get to andrew in time, right? 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 . but his father had come thundering up the stairs, yelling that they needed to go now, and thus the note was shaky and barely legible. folded haphazardly, he'd shoved it beneath a lamp on the night stand, leaving only andrew's name visible. jake said a silent prayer to any god that was listening that his best friend would find it, as the rebels led his family down the street. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 . " ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ɪs ᴅᴇᴀᴅ, " shattered his thoughts, and his lips parted in surprise, hazy eyes finally focusing back on what was in front of him. andrew looked terrified -- feral, like an animal trapped in a corner. but even as the dagger flashed in front of his face, jacob did not flinch. he didn't back down. he raised both hands up in front of his face, showing that he meant no harm, and then slowly reached for the zipper on his jacket. he pulled it down, and then let the jacket fall to the dirt. below it, he wore a ragged black muscle tee -- strong arms spread out by his sides, as if he was putting himself on display. his right arm was covered from shoulder to wrist with a black tattoo, and hideous, twisted, scarred flesh lay beneath it. jake stared at andrew, begging him to recognize who stood before him. " 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒎𝒆 . "

[vulturing]

his gaze flickered over the other man — even without a weapon, he looked like he could take andrew down with ease; there was no fighting his way out of this. he was going to have to make his escape some other way. it didn't matter how he said his name. "no," andrew's gaze lifted suddenly, on the defense again. those dark eyes widened at the corners, fear reading behind the dark brown. "how do you know about the letter?" his breath came in shortly, and he was taking another half-step back, his free hand carding through that dark, messy hair. that letter, folded up and worn down, the letters fading — as if andrew didn't have each letter burned into the backs of his eyelids. how that letter became a promise to himself that he would find jake — it had been so long that he — "jake is dead — how do you know about that?" andrew's voice pitched up, loud and clear in the silence of the night, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. "how do you know about the letter?" suddenly, in his emotion, andrew was stepping forward, brandishing that dagger towards jake, with no clear intention.

if jake had been in his right frame of mind, he would have cursed himself for dropping his weapon. that was a death sentence out here. it didn't matter that he thought he knew this person -- what if he was wrong? or worse: what if andrew wanted nothing to do with him after he'd ꭺᏼꭺɴꭰꮻɴꭼꭰ him to his fate in meridian? the outcome that followed was somehow even worse than those two thoughts. andrew didn't even know who he was anymore. had he really changed so much? jake's eyes fell, and he looked himself over quietly. he still felt the same. he didn't spend much time looking at himself in a mirror anymore, but surely his face was still the same? letting his gaze draw back up, he studied the skittish man for a moment, taking stock of what he did and did not recognize. there were certainly some new scars on his face; he'd matured, grown into those big eyes. but it was still 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚠 . jake would recognize him anywhere, mask or no. his voice was hoarse when it came out, the shock of the moment still heavy in his throat. " 𝐢'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, " he said, and there was almost a note of cynical humor to it, hidden beneath the syllables. that had stopped being true the 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, right? " 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨. " he spoke slowly, allowing andrew time to digest the words. he swallowed over the emotion gathering suddenly in his throat, and asked. " ... 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ? " he'd written it in such a hurry - he barely remembered what it said anymore. but it was his last-ditch attempt at telling the most important person in his life how much he meant to him; how much he would 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 . if andrew had never found it... god. jake would hate himself, too.

[vulturing]

andrew instinctively took a half-step back as the other man stepped forward, despite his much-defeated-looking posture. he was scared, cornered — trapped. he was shaking. he could close his eyes, remember every time growing up where he felt the same; this time, he had the freedom to run, but he was risking so much more if he turned tail. suddenly, the gun was clattering into the dirt beneath their feet. those dark eyes flickered up again, trying to asses the other man's movements. even as he unmasked — oh, he was really dead, now — there was a vulnerability that andrew hadn't been able to sense before; it was as if he was letting him in on something that he wasn't supposed to know. another shuddering breath. his heart was racing. there was something in the way the man was saying his name — something familiar, tender, something so different than anyone else had ever said it — but the only other person who could possibly hold his name on his tongue that fragilely was dead, and he knew that. jake was just a kid on his own, then. he was dead. "who are you?"

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 had left his lips without jake giving it any permission to -- it was pure instinct, reacting to something he truly believed he would never see again. he couldn't even remember the last time he'd said the name aloud -- the day that he left meridian, maybe? honestly, that sounded right. it sounded foreign on his tongue, but jacob had fallen asleep every night with it lingering in the front of his mind. [ 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍. 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛. ] the mask slipped away and revealed messy brown hair, tan skin, narrow features. jake took a step closer, still not believing what he was seeing. but then the man looked up, and jake's shoulders slumped. 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 . the gun lowered, and then suddenly was dropped into the dirt. jake reached up and pulled his hood down; he lowered the bandana away from his face. ʜᴇ ʜᴇʟᴅ ʜɪs ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ. “ 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒘. ”

[vulturing]

the gun 𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴 out, a 𝘀𝗽𝗿𝗮𝘆 of dirt scattering off to his right — andrew side stepped, almost completely losing his balance and falling to the left. but the man's instinct was right. ɪᴛ sᴛᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ. andrew stood there, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯, back to the 𝗴𝗵𝗼𝘀𝘁 from his past. his chest heaved, heavy breaths pulling hot through the mask. he was a 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍, now. he knew that. either this man was going to 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒎 on the spot or he was 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 him back to the city, kicking and screaming. 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗵. slowly, andrew turns around: he faces everything that he's been running from — every 𝚑𝚢𝚖𝚗, every 𝚋𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎, every 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚍. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ᴀ ɢᴜɴ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ʜɪᴍ. [ㅤ𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙷𝚈𝙼𝙽, 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙱𝙾𝚆𝙴𝙳 𝙺𝙽𝙴𝙴, 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙿𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝙳.ㅤ] a shaky breath 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 past chapped lips, and in a defeated movement, andrew's hand lifts, grabs his mask, and pulls it over his head. shoulders hang loosely, his hands limp at his side, his head hanging between those narrow shoulders as his coffee eyes lift, 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 silently for some form of 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲. 𝗿𝘂𝗻, he wants to 𝗿𝘂𝗻, but he is 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒛𝒆𝒏 to the spot.

memories of a 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 came flooding back to jake like an unstoppable tide, his heart caught in the swell. he saw people dressed in identical clothing; circular, winding streets; towering walls of grey; and in the middle of it all, a pristine white chapel with a doe-eyed boy kneeling amongst the pews. an old 𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚜 record scratched to life through the neurons in his brain. ᴡɪsᴇ ᴍᴇɴ sᴀʏ, ᴏɴʟʏ ғᴏᴏʟs ʀ��sʜ ɪɴ ... but as fast as those memories came, those boots in the dirt moved faster. before he realized what was happening, the other man was across the campsite and grabbing for the knife.  “ 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 ! ” jake 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 . if he got away now, the odds of them ever finding each other again were close to zero. he had to act fast, and he let his base instincts drive him. raising the gun up with a carefully trained eye, jake aimed down the barrel and then swung wide.  a 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙏 rang out through the night, sending birds scattering from the sagebrush. dirt went flying off the ground in an arc about two feet to the stranger's right. he racked the gun, and the sound of it reverberated through the quiet. “ 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭 , ” he called. it was his only hope of getting the man to stop. then, “ ... 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤. ”

[vulturing]

each work stung like a ᴅᴀɢɢᴇʀ, pressing into his skin sʜᴀʀᴘʟʏ. he was right — andrew wasn't anything but a simple thief; 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚢. he let out a shaky breath, hot against his mask. something 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐝, then, when their eyes met. he couldn't quite read what was in the other man's eyes, but he could tell that he stiffened, that his face seemed to pale. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎.

andrew stood there for a few moments, trying to process what had just happened, but then 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧. boots hit the ground and he managed to grab for his dagger out of the dirt. he sᴋɪᴛᴛᴇʀs across the campsite, trying to get as far away as he possibly could: ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ʜᴇʀᴇ. there was no way he was getting dragged back to the city. they could take his dead body back, if that's what they wanted — 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞. andrew glanced backwards — his biggest mistake. he stumbled over his boots, those dark eyes finding the man behind him again. [ㅤ𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝙷𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂?ㅤ]

dark, mocha eyes narrowed into slits as he took stock of the situation, cursing himself for not holding one of his people back, sending them all out into the night. he had no backup -- they wouldn't return for hours.  honestly, it was less about needing the backup, and more about jake hating doing his own dirty work. as much as others boasted about his reputation, the reality was, the guardian of trench had a weak stomach. the last thing he wanted to do tonight was cut off someone's fucking hand, but goddamn it, he couldn't just let him go.  he stared down at that hand gripping his wrist for a moment, his own chest heaving with adrenaline. the second he let go, this guy was going to bolt, he knew -- jake could feel it in the way the other's heart was pounding beneath his fist, in the desperate clawing of their nails: 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚐 . he finally glanced up when a hoarse voice rumbled an answer, muffled by that dark mask. jake's eyes narrowed as he watched their mouth move behind the fabric. “𝐰𝐞'𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 ,” he challenged. “𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 .” he sounded disgusted. the stranger had no idea how hard they worked to keep people fed, how little they slept each night, always on the hunt for more supplies. he had no 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 -- 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚝 , and every thought in jacob's head stopped. every muscle in his body tensed, every hair on his neck stood up, like he had just seen a ghost. 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 . his breath caught in his throat, and jake slowly lowered his weapon -- he took two careful steps back, hand falling down to his side. “... 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰 ?”

[vulturing]

[ㅤ𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐶𝐴𝑁 𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑇 𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑁 𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐺𝐸𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑇𝑂𝑃.ㅤ] sweat 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 on andrew's brow, limbs 𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 as he moves upwards. boots catch on rocks — a few shift, skitter downwards. 𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱. he has to keep 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠. why did he constantly feel like he was on the ʀᴜɴ ? why did he constantly feel like he had to be on the ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ? when was the last time he saw someone else's face, besides his ᴏᴡɴ in the dark reflection of ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ? heavy breaths left his chapped lips, pulling himself 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴. what was the 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕, anyway? the ground levels, and he lets himself 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐞 onto the ground. he wasn't built for this — he wasn't anything more than that scared little boy he always had been, wasn't he? those dark eyes of his find the sky — it's so big up there, isn't it? 𝚜𝚘 𝚟𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚜𝚘 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢, 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎. eyes flutter shut, and andrew takes a few deep breaths — only to be interrupted by a sudden ɴᴏɪsᴇ, vaguely somewhere to his left. he skitters up, a 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭 caught in the sight of what he thought was a 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳. he wasn't near water, was he? was he 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁ㅤ𝙵𝙾𝚁ㅤ@dmaorgㅤ.

[vulturing]

ғᴜᴄᴋ. andrew 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 in pain as the bigger man's hand curled into his hair, his face pressing more firmly against the metal, 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 out in pain — fingers curl into tight fists, trying to figure out any sort of way to get out. his mind was reeling, trying to play out scenarios as he was suddenly shifted — pinned against the vehicle. those dark eyes were𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍, 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 to figure out what was going on. the situation was simple — 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑢𝑡, 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒? he let his gaze flicker up to meet the other man's, 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆. andrew's hands lifted, gripping onto the man's wrist, dirty nails 𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 in as he pressed against his sternum, trying to catch a deep breath against the 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲. ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ was nothing but a thief. a whisper of a thought of a reputation that had built so much bigger than andrew, himself: ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴡ ʙʟᴀɪɴᴇ was a scared little boy, kneeling between the church pews and waiting patiently for the relief of the next hymn. chapped lips parted between the mask — a brief debate behind his eyes as he tries to determine 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴. "𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆," andrew finally choked out. maybe there would be some mercy, that way. "𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒚."

jacob kicked the knife away the moment he heard it hit the ground, sending it sliding behind them, far enough away that he knew he now had the solid upper hand. he watched the thief's limbs, ensuring they weren't reaching for another weapon -- that meant he saw the elbow coming, so he braced himself, but the sharp bone still made contact directly between his ribs. a grunt left his mouth and he doubled over, grimacing in pain. unfortunately for the thief, the arc of jake's body just meant their head got shoved even further against the bus, the barrel of the gun driving upwards against their chin. “ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 . 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆 ,” jake growled as he recovered, his fingertips gripping the crown of that mask, along with the hair below it. with quick, rough movements, the guardian forced his captive around to face him, their back now pressed firmly against the bus and a huge, scarred palm digging into their sternum. the sheer power behind that muscled frame was intense -- countless years of rote survival and violence below his belt. even a man who didn't look like he weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet would be hard pressed to get away from this. “ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ? ” barked the larger man, dark eyes narrowing. he had a good eye for faces, remembered most of the people he came across out here -- and there weren't many. the trench chewed people up and spat them back out on a daily basis.  ᴡᴇ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴏᴅɪᴇs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴅᴀʏ . ᴡᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ɴᴏᴡ . to say that jacob was famous around these lands would be an understatement -- the guardian was more like a legend, a folk tale, a story that hopeless parents told their hopeful children at night. there was no way this person didn't know who he was or his reputation for taking body parts -- 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ?

[vulturing]

it was 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 — one moment, andrew was 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 through the moonlight, and then next, his head was being 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍 against the metal of the rig. the sudden slam gets him a bit 𝒅𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒅, and he's not even aware of the fact that his dagger drops from his hands until he is pressing both palms against the side of the rig. whoever was holding him in place was a lot 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 than him. being quick and scrappy might not get him out of this one, not with the 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯 pressing to the side of his neck. eyes close for a moment — [ 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙸𝚃𝚄𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽. 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙾𝚄𝚃. 𝚁𝚄𝙽. ] wriggling beneath the firm grip on his skull — seeming to tighten as each moment passed — was going to be fruitless. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒘 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. so he 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 an elbow back, with as much force as he could muster with those 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔 arms & an 𝚘𝚍𝚍 angle, trying his best to aim for the man's torso. boots shift in the dirt, trying to find some sort of ғᴏᴏᴛɪɴɢ beneath himself, trying to find something sᴛᴇᴀᴅʏ to keep himself up as he tried to get out of this situation. 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 — there had to be some sort of bounty on his head, right? even if this guy showed some mercy, let him keep his 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 — his 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 — andrew would be 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 back underground, at the mercy of his father once again.

𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐤 crept slowly along the horizon, and took with it the smoke of an extinguished campfire. coals still simmered with weak flame beneath the dirt that had been kicked over them, clinging to life, just like everything else out here in this w a s t e l a n d. the man who had built it learned long ago not to waste precious water on flames - if something out here wanted to catch, then he would let it. there was no green left on this earth, anyway -- 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧. 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐛 sat in the cab of his rig, the door swung wide and propped open, a skinner knife glinting in the fading light as it arced into the air and landed back in his palm, once, twice, over and over again. thin, dark eyes followed it, occasionally glancing out toward the foothills.  he'd sent scouts out there less than an hour ago -- didn't expect their return until well after the moon reached its peak. he was alone, for now, with nothing but the sound of the coyotes in the distance keeping him company. movement caught his eye. he was watching the side mirror; could see a small, lithe figure approaching the food cache near the front of the bus. his eyes narrowed. 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐭𝐞. immediately on alert, every muscle stiffened beneath the dirty, khaki green jacket that covered his frame. he stayed still, knowing he was out of sight, but wanting to see what the t h i e f would do. everyone in these parts knew the bandito's war machine. everyone knew the penalty for theft. was this person stupid, or just desperate? either way, they weren't going to get away with it. as they busied themselves digging through the storage on the side of the bus, jake reached for the shotgun laid across the dash, and pulled his bandana up over his mouth, the hood of the jacket covering his head.  he crept slowly, silently around the back of the bus, just enough light left from the setting sun to guide his steps and ensure he made no noise.  the black metal of the bus made a dull c l a n g as a head was shoved forcefully against it, the thief now pinned between jacob's wide frame and the wall in front of them. his hand dug into the person's skull, tight enough to bruise, and the barrel of the shotgun rested idly just below their jaw. “ 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝. ”

𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙻𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁: @vulturing

[vulturing]

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐀𝐒 tired. 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔, 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢, 𝚎𝚡𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 from the sun 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 down on his narrow shoulders — a hull of the man who he once was, truly, if he could consider who he was back in 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯 a man; he was weak, then, and weak now, in a different way. he was 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚅𝚄𝙻𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴, now, hiding behind a mask instead of a bishop's robes. every muscle felt sore as he stretched out in his hiding spot; shoulders 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧, his eyes 𝘥𝘳𝘺, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 with each blink as those dark eyes watched his next target — maybe it was bold of him to 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 that he could steal from such a big rig, but he 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 they had food. he 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 they had water. he was just 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 for the right moment. after what felt like ages, it seemed safe enough to 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱 out of that hiding spot of his; boots scuffed against the ground below as he tugged his mask beneath his chin, fingers wrapping around a dagger — 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎. always 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎. andrew's frame crept towards the rig — his biggest mistake was his ᴛᴜɴɴᴇʟ ᴠɪsɪᴏɴ. all he could think about was the food inside. he'd managed to determine where they kept it, and that's exactly what he was 𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁ㅤ𝙵𝙾𝚁ㅤ@fellghostㅤ.

[vulturing]

﹟ㅤ𝐕ㅤ𝐔ㅤ𝐋ㅤ𝐓ㅤ𝐔ㅤ𝐑ㅤ𝐈ㅤ𝐍ㅤ𝐆ㅤ:ㅤANDREW BLAINE an original character. A TALE OF WOE BY CODY. sideblog of @pierrotts. associated with @fellghost.﹟𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃 ﹟𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 ﹟𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹟𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄.