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Oct. 10th, 2012 11:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
3nanashiTrowa likes the garage. It's quiet, it's usually pretty empty of people, and it's got square kilometers full of fascinating machinery. Trowa is a mechanic at heart, and sometimes he privately misses the chance to get shoulder-deep in an engine. Milliways provides for that handily.
He's also Trowa, which means he also likes to explore it to make sure he has a clear and current mental map of all those square kilometers of deceptive and occasionally shifting geometry.
He rounds a corner, and --
. . .
That's new.
Trowa's eyes narrow slightly as he regards the wall. Its utilitarian concrete is covered with scratches and scrawled over with white chalk, delineating X-ed out circles and a single word:
S O L D I E R
He's also Trowa, which means he also likes to explore it to make sure he has a clear and current mental map of all those square kilometers of deceptive and occasionally shifting geometry.
He rounds a corner, and --
. . .
That's new.
Trowa's eyes narrow slightly as he regards the wall. Its utilitarian concrete is covered with scratches and scrawled over with white chalk, delineating X-ed out circles and a single word:
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Date: 2012-10-14 06:52 am (UTC)"It doesn't get to do what it wants, Trowa," she says, low and hoarse.
"It doesn't matter."
The hound lunges.
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Date: 2012-10-14 07:06 am (UTC)Because right now, as soon as that first rasping sentence left Ava's mouth, Trowa is doing his Batgirl-trained best to fling the invisible maybe-canine to one side, as hard as he can, and roll away.
He's not working too hard to keep the knife in his hand away from it, either. But that's not his primary intention; the knife might cut, might miss, might go right through the thing, and if it cuts it has equal odds of scaring the animal or making it madder. Or, from what Ava says, having no effect at all.
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Date: 2012-10-14 07:48 am (UTC)Ava runs towards it. She can see the hound, of course-- she's not a mark, but she's not a normal either.
She aims to keep the thing between her and Trowa.
(The hound, presumably on its feet again, gives a warning growl.)
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Date: 2012-10-14 08:07 am (UTC)When you can't hold your own against the enemy, you retreat unless you have a more pressing reason to stay. Trowa doesn't; there's no one else to delay Ava for, no orders to leave no witnesses, no mission parameters that preclude a retreat.
And the intel he does have is a lot of close personal observation of the garage.
Trowa rolls to his feet and keeps going. There's a motorcycle one aisle over and ten yards down; he has no idea who it belongs to, but the keys are in the ignition. (He tested it months ago, when he first found it, and the engine started. Trowa believes in being prepared a lot more strongly than he believes in the sanctity of personal property.)
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Date: 2012-10-14 08:22 am (UTC)It's boring when they run.
Pressing a hand to her temple, she focuses in:
Go get him.
The hound barks, starting off at a run.
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Date: 2012-10-14 08:25 am (UTC)Because that's what's now happening.
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Date: 2012-10-14 08:31 am (UTC)For a moment, three sounds are commingled: the baying of the hound, the sound of the engine, and the dry hacking of Ava's sudden cough.
But as the coughing continues, and she drops to her knees, the hellhound noise seems to fade away.
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Date: 2012-10-14 08:41 am (UTC)And then it cuts off.
Because Trowa's at the elevators. He spins, back to the wall, his knife held at the ready, but the doors close without incident.
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Date: 2012-10-14 08:52 am (UTC)She doesn't move to get up for a long time.
(When she does, it's with a marked lack of concern, even for the slivers of glass that have dug their way into her palm.
She gets up turned away from the dent in the car, and from the chalk writing.)
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Date: 2012-10-14 08:53 am (UTC)So that could have gone better.