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maderrLove Prison Break. He's still too damn pretty to be left alone in a pen. I'm just saying.
This is entirely Samantha's fault. Just want that clear. And unedited because I have no fucking clue where it's going yet.
Robin bit until the man screamed like a little girl, and held on until they went for a gut punch.
Bastards.
He waited a few minutes, until they were grunting and gasping and panting from dragging - yes dragging, because he was not going to go quietly and stoicly into this, no fucking way. The Holy Father could suck his right nut, the Mother could suck his left. Once the village men carrying him relaxed their guard again - for they were too worn from fighting him to keep it up - he latched onto the farmer to his right and bit down hard on his calf.
They dropped him like...well, like a young man who was shortly going to dead so what did a few bruises and boken bones really matter?
Robin endured quietly as he was lifted up and given a rough shaking. And they thought that would accomplish what? Where they trying to shake sense into him or the trouble out of him? Probably the second, because he was pretty sure none of them had the first. They wouldn't recognize sense if it punched them in the face and bit whatever bit of flesh it could reach.
Bastards.
He'd worked his ass off for them, from the moment he realized his mother hadn't gone to market - she'd just gone. And what did he get for working sun up to sun down from the age of seven?
Sacrificed. To a god he hadn't known they'd worshipped. Hadn't given the village enough credit. No wonder they'd always seemed so placid. A good cover for all the naughty things they'd been up to.
Weren't virgin sacrifices supposed to be girls? Crying and wailing in long white dresses? He'd listened at the school windows, at church, to whatever open window he could find at night, to learn all the stories the villagers had to tell.
Funny he'd missed all the parts where they worshipped Sirkin.
No wonder mom had high-tailed it. Would have been nice if she'd taken him along. But he wasn't surprised she hadn't, really. Even at seven he'd known she was awfully pretty. Young, pretty women didn't need kids.
But that was okay, because apparently young abandoned men were perfect sacrifices.
Bastards.
Robin started swinging again, bored with all the shaking. Several more bruises and an ankle he was pretty sure wouldn't be good walking anytime soon put an end to the latest debate. He never was much good at conversation.
By the time they got him the rest of the way up the hill, through the black temple he really wished he'd noticed sooner and onto the stone altar...he was too damned tired to put up more of a fight.
Didn't really matter any way. Who was going to miss him?
Well, maybe ol' lady Muller. But he doubted it.
Robin ignored them as they chanted prayers and whispered that he should be honored to be chosen as the sacrifice. If he'd had the energy, he woudl have pointed out that generally sacrifice, at least according to the stories he'd heard, meant giving up something of value.
His value? Less than that of dead whore. He was pretty sure a sacrifice should involve someone being sad to see him go. He twisted his head - kinda hard to do really, when everything from his neck down was tied pretty good to the stone slab beneath him - and looked at the men steadily working to make sure he didn't figure out how to break loose.
Not a tear or sad frown among them. After the kicks and the bites and the punches, he wasn't too surprised to see how eagerly and expertly they were tying the ropes.
He thought about saying something. Struggling came to mind too.
But in the end he lay still, and let them finish, and watched them go, then listened to them go...then listened to the silence.
"Could've at least told me goodbye," he muttered, and told himself his voice was hoarse from shouting and fighting and the taste of nasty farmers and shopkeepers. Not from tears.
Because even his mother had at least told him goodbye.
This is entirely Samantha's fault. Just want that clear. And unedited because I have no fucking clue where it's going yet.
Robin bit until the man screamed like a little girl, and held on until they went for a gut punch.
Bastards.
He waited a few minutes, until they were grunting and gasping and panting from dragging - yes dragging, because he was not going to go quietly and stoicly into this, no fucking way. The Holy Father could suck his right nut, the Mother could suck his left. Once the village men carrying him relaxed their guard again - for they were too worn from fighting him to keep it up - he latched onto the farmer to his right and bit down hard on his calf.
They dropped him like...well, like a young man who was shortly going to dead so what did a few bruises and boken bones really matter?
Robin endured quietly as he was lifted up and given a rough shaking. And they thought that would accomplish what? Where they trying to shake sense into him or the trouble out of him? Probably the second, because he was pretty sure none of them had the first. They wouldn't recognize sense if it punched them in the face and bit whatever bit of flesh it could reach.
Bastards.
He'd worked his ass off for them, from the moment he realized his mother hadn't gone to market - she'd just gone. And what did he get for working sun up to sun down from the age of seven?
Sacrificed. To a god he hadn't known they'd worshipped. Hadn't given the village enough credit. No wonder they'd always seemed so placid. A good cover for all the naughty things they'd been up to.
Weren't virgin sacrifices supposed to be girls? Crying and wailing in long white dresses? He'd listened at the school windows, at church, to whatever open window he could find at night, to learn all the stories the villagers had to tell.
Funny he'd missed all the parts where they worshipped Sirkin.
No wonder mom had high-tailed it. Would have been nice if she'd taken him along. But he wasn't surprised she hadn't, really. Even at seven he'd known she was awfully pretty. Young, pretty women didn't need kids.
But that was okay, because apparently young abandoned men were perfect sacrifices.
Bastards.
Robin started swinging again, bored with all the shaking. Several more bruises and an ankle he was pretty sure wouldn't be good walking anytime soon put an end to the latest debate. He never was much good at conversation.
By the time they got him the rest of the way up the hill, through the black temple he really wished he'd noticed sooner and onto the stone altar...he was too damned tired to put up more of a fight.
Didn't really matter any way. Who was going to miss him?
Well, maybe ol' lady Muller. But he doubted it.
Robin ignored them as they chanted prayers and whispered that he should be honored to be chosen as the sacrifice. If he'd had the energy, he woudl have pointed out that generally sacrifice, at least according to the stories he'd heard, meant giving up something of value.
His value? Less than that of dead whore. He was pretty sure a sacrifice should involve someone being sad to see him go. He twisted his head - kinda hard to do really, when everything from his neck down was tied pretty good to the stone slab beneath him - and looked at the men steadily working to make sure he didn't figure out how to break loose.
Not a tear or sad frown among them. After the kicks and the bites and the punches, he wasn't too surprised to see how eagerly and expertly they were tying the ropes.
He thought about saying something. Struggling came to mind too.
But in the end he lay still, and let them finish, and watched them go, then listened to them go...then listened to the silence.
"Could've at least told me goodbye," he muttered, and told himself his voice was hoarse from shouting and fighting and the taste of nasty farmers and shopkeepers. Not from tears.
Because even his mother had at least told him goodbye.
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:24 am (UTC)No wait...
*huggles Robin* Poor kid. I love how you write rough and tumble characters. You just get them with the right amount of disdain and lack of surprise at the things that the people around them end up doing to them. Just cynical enough to be freaking cool, but not so much that they're annoying. *hearts*
Soo....why are they tying him to a slab with notes? *looks curious and hopeful that there's a way out of this for Robin*
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Date: 2005-09-20 09:38 am (UTC)Notes? *looks back up*
*facepalm*
That should be ropes. Ye gods MEgan, learn to type. No more wine before bed.
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:15 pm (UTC)Actually, I kinda thought it was cool. Like he had all kinds of paper charms and talismans attached to him to attract the attentions of the gods/monsters and to keep him in one place.
Or, you know, I've been reading way the hell too much manga. *sweatdrops*
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Date: 2005-09-20 04:30 pm (UTC)Heh. Not a bad idea, actually.
Too much manga? There exists such a thing?
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:27 am (UTC)I love how ya'll characters are always something of a smartass.
*hugs* *runs back to art notes before giving in to temptation to read again*
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-20 04:35 pm (UTC)I love how ya'll characters are always something of a smartass
Well they say write what you know and if there's one thing the Derr family knows...
*loves and adores*
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:28 am (UTC)A rescue? The sacrifice isn't there to die, but for hmmmmmmmm, other uses?
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:39 am (UTC)On the other hand... Robin's a delight. Cobin seems too docile and quiescent by comparison, and now I'm thinking my sacrifice is wholly inadequate. *frown*
More soon?
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Date: 2005-09-20 09:40 am (UTC)It's called lack of sleep, a glass of wine (strawberry!) and neglecting all my other stories.
His name is Cobin? That's eerily similar. I must be a bad telepath.
If you're going to start thinking yours inadequate, I'm going to stop >_> That so totally wasn't my intent, I just wanted to write about a sacrifice who didn't like the idea and a god who's really fracking lazy or something.
Yes ma'am.
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Date: 2005-09-20 01:24 pm (UTC)Is it really a bad thing we think along similar lines?
Dude, don't stop. No matter how horribly mine now sucks by comparison. I mean, whatever. I'm just being me. We'll all get over it one day.
Thank you!
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Date: 2005-09-20 01:35 pm (UTC)But, you know... I haven't seen any of Sammie's yet. Maybe we should read a snippet of it. You know, for comparison. ;)
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-20 04:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-20 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-20 04:31 pm (UTC)Heh. I meant more that I didn't get the whole message, since I went with Robin rather than Cobin. That still trips me out. I think we really must be telepathetic.
YOURS IS NOT HORRIBLE. I swear, nothing proves you're a nonacademic like your propensity to think too damn much.
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Date: 2005-09-20 04:33 pm (UTC)YES IT IS. It totally doesn't match up to yours. It like... pales in comparison. Anti-intellectual. And, no I don't. I obviously don't put enough thought into shit...
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Date: 2005-09-20 04:40 pm (UTC)What's to match up to? Dude, if I'd known I was going to discourage you I never would have started it >_> I only did it because your sacrifice bug bit me and it was a break from the stories that won't cooperate. Yours is totally going to rock, just stop dwelling and fucking type. Don't make me give you a concussion.
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Date: 2005-09-20 04:54 pm (UTC)bah, I'm just being me. I'll get over it. Give me a concussion? Ha! I'd like to see you try.
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Date: 2005-09-20 05:03 pm (UTC)*cracks knuckles*
Right. Christmas then shall be a hug for Brandie, a beating for Bub, and a concussion for you. Eeexcellent.
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Date: 2005-09-20 02:50 am (UTC)Okay, that wasn't very coherent, was it?
...was shortly going to dead so what... Going to be dead, I think.
I keep wavering between wanting to see vengeance laid upon the villagers, and understanding their position. Although if they'd had even the tiniest bit of sense, they would have drugged him. Silly people.
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Date: 2005-09-20 04:40 pm (UTC)^_^
You'd think it would have occured to them. Maybe they already felt guilty enough as was.
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Date: 2005-09-20 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-20 03:27 am (UTC)And did you hear from Courtney? She said in her journal that you're keeping her sane XDD This makes me very very happy (cause I'm worried about her but she seems happy enough considering).
SO, Megan, you're doing good things for the poor young separated from their daughters soldiers in Iraq. That is very noble and admirable and now you have proof your writing is worth something <3 Never lose hope.
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Date: 2005-09-20 04:32 pm (UTC)Courtney? YOu'll have to forgive my being very bad with everyone's real names. I'm glad I could help though.
Story is not over. Oh no, not by a long shot. Only one story of mine is heavy on the angst and this ain't it. XD
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Date: 2005-09-20 05:17 pm (UTC)Also yay for it not being over ^__^;; I don't mind angst but I mind sad endings <.< Fortunately for you you could probably write the tragedy to end all tragedies where every good character dies horrible lonely deaths and I would still like it (although I really hope you won't).
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Date: 2005-09-20 03:37 am (UTC)I don't care where it's going, I just want to go for the ride. I am fascinated already. I love when a story hooks me from the get go! And this one did! I loved this line:
Even though I'm sure you meant were (?) I loved it. I love the plucky boys. And that last line. Perfect.
You know, it's funny. When I read this I immediately saw an image in my minds eye. The "guy" he's a sacrifice for comes to get him and the first words out of his mouth are "This is the best they could do?"
Sorry, just had to mention it. I can't wait to see what comes next.
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Date: 2005-09-20 04:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-20 04:34 pm (UTC)Where/were - my fingers see no difference. Apparently neither do my eyes >_<
Heh. I think you'll like the "guy" when he arrives.
^_^
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Date: 2005-09-20 07:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-20 04:41 pm (UTC)He'll be better in a bit ^_^
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Date: 2005-09-20 08:42 pm (UTC)