(no subject)

[sunnydalealum]

It's final exams week at the Slayers' Academy. Which means that about five young women were called in by Sarge at the beginning of the week, and told something to the effect of Right, miss. Sometime this week you're going to get tapped by surprise and put through twenty-four hours of whatever we can throw at you. Can't say what day, can't say when, but you've got to outlast the clock and acquit yourself well, 'cos surviving unharmed by hiding under the bed's for pussies.

The workout rooms off the upper-level armory are usually deserted this late at night. But there's a light on in one of them, and a familiar sound coming from inside: the thrup-thud of feet moving rapidly from one stance to the next, the flat slap of wood or flesh against padding.
lord, give me grace and dancing feet / and the power to impress
Jordie's there, alone in the room, beating hell out of a training dummy with one of the practice fake-Scythes.
lord, give me grace and dancing feet / let me outshine the moon
Which is a circumstance that would make a lot more sense if she hadn't finished her exam about four hours ago.

Comments

[sunnydalealum]

Jordie has no intention of dying. But Spoon doesn't know what kind of darkness she's walking into. Suspects, maybe, but doesn't know.

If things were different, she might have told him. Might have asked for his help, even; he could have helped.

Things aren't different.

When the kiss breaks, both of their faces are wet. Jordie whispers "Goodbye" into the curve of his ear, drops to the floor, bends to scoop up her box, and is gone.

The sound of running feet fades down the corridor outside.

[there-is-a-me.livejournal.com]

He chases her a couple of feet, and then stops.

"Shite. Shite, shite, SHITE." he informs the air. No way he can catch her now without blowing everything for everyone to come.

The world sucks.

He's going to talk to Wells about his concerns.

He's got to talk to Ace about the kiss.

He really wants a fag for nerves.