Three Graces - Trick or Treat
Nov. 1st, 2011 12:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nothingtoregretRating: 15
Word Count: 310
Summary: All good things come to an end.
It started like an abrupt dust storm. Both men jumped, Cas reaching for his pistol, David pressing feet firmly into the sand in preparation to bolt. The click of weapons on the opposite side made both pause, turning slowly to face the sound.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Deor.”
David let out a wordless moan, apparently paralysed.
Cas growled. “Don’t point that at me.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “As your employers, we give the orders, not you.”
David found a scream as a sharp report split the air. Cas fell sideways, eyes glassy. Blood pooled in a crimson halo.
“Cheaper than his fee anyway,” the man told the still screaming David, rolling his eyes at the lack of coherent response. “Very handy, took him a while but he led us to you in the end.”
Too late, David found his flight response. A second shot, this one to his leg, put paid to his escape. Guards moved to his side, grabbing him unceremoniously under the arms and hauling him towards the settling storm which was starting to resolve itself into a light air transport unit.
“So much easier to convince them we want people dead,” he sighed, giving Cas’s inert body a kick as he passed it and ignoring David’s incoherent howls and sobs. “They’ll do anything for cash. They’re easy to deal with,” he added, smiling broadly at his captive, “promise a treat and trick them.”
David’s response wasn’t all he’d have liked. The sobs had run out of voice. All he did now was gulp, his chest hitching, tears cleaning tracks down his cheeks. Absolutely no entertainment value.
He sighed heavily. “Put him in the jet. I’ll deal with him later.”
David offered absolutely no resistance. Like he’d reiterated to the mercenary, another death on the long list attributed to him now: it was his own fault.
Word Count: 310
Summary: All good things come to an end.
It started like an abrupt dust storm. Both men jumped, Cas reaching for his pistol, David pressing feet firmly into the sand in preparation to bolt. The click of weapons on the opposite side made both pause, turning slowly to face the sound.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Deor.”
David let out a wordless moan, apparently paralysed.
Cas growled. “Don’t point that at me.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “As your employers, we give the orders, not you.”
David found a scream as a sharp report split the air. Cas fell sideways, eyes glassy. Blood pooled in a crimson halo.
“Cheaper than his fee anyway,” the man told the still screaming David, rolling his eyes at the lack of coherent response. “Very handy, took him a while but he led us to you in the end.”
Too late, David found his flight response. A second shot, this one to his leg, put paid to his escape. Guards moved to his side, grabbing him unceremoniously under the arms and hauling him towards the settling storm which was starting to resolve itself into a light air transport unit.
“So much easier to convince them we want people dead,” he sighed, giving Cas’s inert body a kick as he passed it and ignoring David’s incoherent howls and sobs. “They’ll do anything for cash. They’re easy to deal with,” he added, smiling broadly at his captive, “promise a treat and trick them.”
David’s response wasn’t all he’d have liked. The sobs had run out of voice. All he did now was gulp, his chest hitching, tears cleaning tracks down his cheeks. Absolutely no entertainment value.
He sighed heavily. “Put him in the jet. I’ll deal with him later.”
David offered absolutely no resistance. Like he’d reiterated to the mercenary, another death on the long list attributed to him now: it was his own fault.
