Dante (justbusiness) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2010-06-10 19:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | dante, erin |
Friday May 30th 2008
Who: Erin and Dante
What: To Tucson!
Where: Current Location: Alamogordo, NM
When: Friday Afternoon
Rating: R for language
The highways of the southwest were dull, dry and dusty. Luckily Dante had sunglasses and Erin had a helmet that kept the dirt off her face, although anytime they stoped she made these faces that clearly indicated she wasn't happy about being so dirty all the time. But her stoicism was surprising Dante every day. Actually, everything about her was surprising him lately. She didn't prod, or push for more information, or glower at him for almost breaking her nose. She just let things be as they were. It was kind of awesome.
Along interstate 10W, amidst the glorious scenery of rocks and dirt and red clay, there was a sign. He didn't quite read everything it said, bunch of towns he didn't give a crap about, but one thing stuck out in his mind: Tuscon, 379 miles. That's when Jessica started shaking, when the engine revved without him giving it gas, when the headlight flickered and the bike started jerking about. That was when Dante pulled off to the side of the road and killed the engine, dismounting before Erin even had her arms off him yet. He paced a few feet off, hands balled into fists.
His internal currents were jumbled and messy and sparking like mad. Something was not right. Was it because they were getting close, because the possibilities of what lay ahead were nearer? He didn't know. But they needed a break, apparently.
Erin let out a soft yelp of surprise as Dante abruptly shot off the bike. After gathering her balance and brushing herself off, she watched Dante fume and stomp about.
".....Something wrong with the bike?"
---
Looking down at his hands, Dante noticed they were shaking, badly. Despite Erin's wristguards. Fuck. "She's fine," he said dismissively. At least, he sure as hell hoped Jessica was fine. Not only would they be seriously screwed if she weren't, but Dante would be almost heartbroken. If they had any luck at all, the bike was okay. The driver, however, was freaking out against his will. He was nervous about what was coming, what he would have to do.
"Sparking," he mumbled, answering a question Erin had not asked. "Just... shit's happening." When little bolts of lightening started popping from the tips of his fingers, Dante cursed loudly and sat down on the ground, laying his palms flat on the dirt. He needed to get this current steady or he was going to kill poor Erin. Or Jessica. Or both of them.
---
"Did the wrist-guards stop working already?" she asked, her voice suspiciously distraught.
---
Not looking up, not speaking, Dante shook his head. They were probably working fine, as far as normal standards went. This was not normal standards. Fingers gripping into the Earth, he closed his eyes and focused, letting off bursts of electricity into the ground in spurts, the ground rumbling softly each time, small dust clouds puffing up.
---
Erin looked around and, without having a perch, settled for leaning against a tree to watch him. She hooked one foot up, behind the other leg's kneecap, and crossed her arms over her chest. Was he alright? Touching him was out of the question. Not wanting to pry him with questions when he appeared to be concentrating, she let out a sigh, then reached for her cell phone to check messages, her email, etc. A worried frown lined her face.
---
To passers-by, Dante looked like he was meditating. Sitting, palms flat on the ground, eyes closed. Only difference was he was not breathing deeply as would be expected. For at least ten minutes he simply sat, quiet, trying to focus. Finally, when the last of his energy had been expelled, Dante simply fell backward into the dirt with a dull thud. He was exhausted, completely spent, muscles aching but still sporadically spasming.
"Nng," he grunted, opening his eyes to stare up at the bright New Mexico sky. "Fucker."
---
Without warning, Erin was suddenly crouching beside him. She moved silently, like a cat. With her knees in the dirt, she leaned over him. Her hair slid off her shoulders and she caught it quickly, before it could completely brush over his face.
"....Hey."
---
"Hey."
It was spooky how she moved sometimes, like a shadow. She was over there one moment and beside him the next. "I don't wanna go," he said suddenly, the words just popping out of his mouth. "Shit, I gotta go." Sitting up (but taking care not to headbutt Erin in the face and bloody her nose again), Dante ran his dirty hands through his hair. "I have to go." His voice was leaden, defeated. It felt like walking into his own fate, steeling himself for death row. He was fuckin' scared.
---
She cupped his chin in icy fingers and lifted his gaze to hers. She looked... urgent. Scared, like him. And beneath it all... sad.
"Why."
Why did he 'have' to go?
---
Erin's hands were cold. Not cool, as they usually were, but cold. Actually cold. She was jumbled with emotion, he could tell that before he even met her eyes. Swallowing, Dante held Erin's gaze a moment. He didn't want to tell her. He couldn't. She wouldn't understand, and if she did then she would regret it later. She would leave, and where the hell would she go in the middle of nowhere? She'd hate him. It surprised him a lot how much the thought of her hating him wrenched at his heart. He couldn't... but he needed to. She wouldn't want to stay with him, but she wouldn't follow him either.
"I need to kill her." Tugging his chin from her grasp, he forced himself up onto his knees, keeping his eyes avoiding Erin's gaze as he pushed to his feet. "Let's go."
---
"You don't even know who she is," she replied, her tone even and logical despite the fact he'd just admitted he was on a mission for homicide. She fell into step beside him, not behind him, purpose in her shoulders and gait. "I don't understand."
---
Crossly, Dante glared sideways at Erin. "You don't have to understand," he said hotly. Didn't she give a fuck at all about what he'd said? Sometimes it annoyed him how collected she was, how well she took things in stride. How immoveable she was. "I don't know her. But she's the one that killed Michael Dennison. My body," he explained, in case she forgot. "He failed the mission so I gotta finish it."
Feeling this explaination should be adequate, Dante swung a leg over Jessica. "C'mon," he said plainly.
---
With a tone that betrayed not a hint of guilt or empathy, she simply replied: "That's fucking stupid."
Then she got on the bike behind him.
---
Maybe it was stupid. In fact, it definitely was. Revving the engine, Dante looked back over his shoulder. "It's either off this chick or get taken out." He sped off before she could respond, shooting out onto the highway at a dangerously fast speed, especially considering he was still kind of dizzy from having dumped so much electricity. Erin might have questions later, and he supposed that he owed her answers now, since he'd already spilled the beans. But that was later.