Three Graces - Costumes
Nov. 1st, 2011 12:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nothingtoregretRating: PG
Word Count: 398
Summary: Cas passes his opinion on David's story.
Cas stared at the man in front of him thoughtfully. The ghost stared back. Despite the expressions and emotions that had passed through his eyes and across his face as he recounted his story he looked impassive now, accepting of his fate.
Almost. The wanderer’s striking eyes kept drifting toward Cas’s heavy canteens.
“You want to live.”
The ghost started, as if he wasn’t aware his gaze had drifted, then smiled slightly. “I don’t care any more.”
Cas unhooked one of the leather bags and threw it the short distance between them, noting that the man’s hands moved to catch it before he even seemed aware of its trajectory. “Drink and then decide.”
“Decide?” He barked a short laugh. “I don’t think I’m deciding anything. That’s in your hands now.” He picked up the canteen anyway, taking a deep draught from it without shifting his stare from Cas’s face.
“I believe you.”
“Well that’s comforting,” the ghost said, taking another swig. The ghost - David Deor - a hard habit to break now he’d become so used to snarling the word in his head with every dead end. “What now?”
“I don’t kill you.”
“Oh.” Deor thoughtfully recapped the carafe and leaned forward towards the mercenary, holding it out without any apparent fear. “So torture or being returned, I guess.”
“Yes.” He picked it up and hooked it back onto his belt. “I can’t lose you. Bad for business.”
“I can imagine.”
For the first time since landing on this godforsaken ball of sand, Cas felt a genuine smile tug at his lips. “It’s a shame. I like you.”
Deor looked at him from under those long blond lashes like he was trying to disguise his surprise, and failing. “That’s a bit of an... inconvenient thing to admit, isn’t it?”
“Probably.” Cas shifted his weight from side to side. The guns clattered; he barely noticed their noises any more but Deor twitched like a startled rabbit. Hardly a surprise. “You’re genuine. No costumes. No lies.”
Again that half-smile, like the ability to form a full one was slowly dying. “No point in lying, is there? It won’t save my skin. No one—” he paused, looking away for a moment, pointedly away from the carcasses around what remained of the oasis, “it just felt good to finally say it.”
Cas stared thoughtfully at the ghost. “I imagine it did.”
Word Count: 398
Summary: Cas passes his opinion on David's story.
Cas stared at the man in front of him thoughtfully. The ghost stared back. Despite the expressions and emotions that had passed through his eyes and across his face as he recounted his story he looked impassive now, accepting of his fate.
Almost. The wanderer’s striking eyes kept drifting toward Cas’s heavy canteens.
“You want to live.”
The ghost started, as if he wasn’t aware his gaze had drifted, then smiled slightly. “I don’t care any more.”
Cas unhooked one of the leather bags and threw it the short distance between them, noting that the man’s hands moved to catch it before he even seemed aware of its trajectory. “Drink and then decide.”
“Decide?” He barked a short laugh. “I don’t think I’m deciding anything. That’s in your hands now.” He picked up the canteen anyway, taking a deep draught from it without shifting his stare from Cas’s face.
“I believe you.”
“Well that’s comforting,” the ghost said, taking another swig. The ghost - David Deor - a hard habit to break now he’d become so used to snarling the word in his head with every dead end. “What now?”
“I don’t kill you.”
“Oh.” Deor thoughtfully recapped the carafe and leaned forward towards the mercenary, holding it out without any apparent fear. “So torture or being returned, I guess.”
“Yes.” He picked it up and hooked it back onto his belt. “I can’t lose you. Bad for business.”
“I can imagine.”
For the first time since landing on this godforsaken ball of sand, Cas felt a genuine smile tug at his lips. “It’s a shame. I like you.”
Deor looked at him from under those long blond lashes like he was trying to disguise his surprise, and failing. “That’s a bit of an... inconvenient thing to admit, isn’t it?”
“Probably.” Cas shifted his weight from side to side. The guns clattered; he barely noticed their noises any more but Deor twitched like a startled rabbit. Hardly a surprise. “You’re genuine. No costumes. No lies.”
Again that half-smile, like the ability to form a full one was slowly dying. “No point in lying, is there? It won’t save my skin. No one—” he paused, looking away for a moment, pointedly away from the carcasses around what remained of the oasis, “it just felt good to finally say it.”
Cas stared thoughtfully at the ghost. “I imagine it did.”
