#chaformbitrano

[tiefighter]

chaformbitrano replied to your post:i had a dream I was trying to save a giant flemish...

i had a dream that i lost a car race in a subzero environment to a punk kid riding a scooter what the shit kid you’re like five also not even wearing a coat get the fuck out

man those scooter gangs are out of control

[tiefighter]

Pronine and Aly saints row because I'm a bad person

The flashlight blinds the bastard, gives him a couple of seconds reprieve, enough to get his rifle up and shoot it in the throat. Sidestepping turns out to be an issue, considering he can’t get his knees to work properly so he gets a shoulder to the chest, breath knocked out as they both go down. He shoots again for good measure. Maybe once more. Getting to his feet hurts, he’s creaking in places he shouldn’t. Intellectually, he knows it’s all in his head. He’s not actually in his body, this shouldn’t actually hurt. If he dies, he’ll just respawn somewhere else. It’s hard to think about that when his legs are on fire, when he can feel the heavy weight of blood under his palm as he pushes himself up. He’s fucked up his suit. Motherfuckers. “Well, that’s dead.” Hearing Kinzie laugh over the comms is sort of comforting so he talks to her as he makes his way down the hallway, following the blood smears. “I don’t know why you keep sending me such lovely places.” “I think he’s a little further down where you’re headed. Don’t break him getting him out.” They’re friends, of sorts. Kinzie intimidates the fuck out of Aly and he doesn’t take her shit. She’s not going to let him get distracted. “I’ll do my utmost not to.”

He might have to. Aly’s buck ass naked, bloody and strapped to a wall with steel strong enough to look intimidating. What the fuck is he thinking? Does he think about this that often? That he wouldn’t- “Why are you here?” It’s not so much a dull question as the tone is somewhere around where his shoes would be, if he was wearing any. The kid’s not even looking at him, eyes somewhere around his knees (if kid’s even fair, Aly’s in his late twenties by now, it’s not- he’s not-) and Pronine yanks the metal at his feet open first so he doesn’t fall flat on his face when he lets go of his arms. Dropping the rifle is easy. Lifting Aly is easier. Getting his arms around his waist, he hauls him up against his chest and waits for a long, heavy moment until Aly clings on, like he can’t believe it’s him, like he’s barely breathing for the wonder of it. “Lets get you out of here, yeah?” “Yeah.” Neither of them move for a while, just holding on. He’s not sure when he forgave Aly, or even if he had to at all given it wasn’t his fucking fault but all he wants is to hold him back outside, away from data and projections and false blood and tears.

When they pick him up Aly doesn’t say much but he does sleep in Pronine’s bed for a while so he figures it’s progress.