I Moderate (i_moderate) wrote in we_archive, @ 2006-02-09 18:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | sara pezzini |
i_am_a_medusa Welcome to the Hellmouth [ Narrartive - Part 1 ]
She could feel it, like an itch or a barely there touch; Ian Nottingham's presence behind her. Not helping, not hindering. The wind was whipping her hair. It was cold up on the roof of the high-rise and it made goosepimples rise all over her body. Sara wished for the umpteenth time that this thing that was bonded to her wouldn't shred her clothes every time it manifested to protect her.
Kenneth Irons had eyes like ice, little chips of glacier and he held her close in a mock lover's embrace, gun to her stomach, hand at her neck. He laughed, looking over at Ian. Ian who wasn't helping her.
"You're mine." Iron hissed. "Both of you. I made you."
Sara struggled to free herself, but the Witchblade was still, it wouldn't tendril, wouldn't move. She was going to die, the gun was too close, Irons knew too much about how the Witchblade worked. The bullet would be treated with something, somehow. It'd pierce the shield. Kill her.
"I have slipped my leash. Father."
Ian's voice. Ian's words. But what the fuck was he talking about ? Father ? Irons was his father ? But she'd met Iron's son. The little, blonde, sleazeball who should have made his way out to Hollywood years ago and made money off the saps there. He was all money, executive power plays, information games and 'the little people'.
Irons' hand tightened around her neck and Sara gasped for breath. Now would be a really good time for the Witchblade to do something spectacular. Right now. Right this second. Right this second.
The little piece of shit!
"You know ?"
"I made use of the police department's dna analysis lab."
He did what ?! Her police department ? When the fuck had that happened ? Was she ever going to know anything that was going on ? The look on Kenneth Irons' face distracted her. Suddenly he threw her to one side, holding the gun on Ian.
"You used her to mask it!"
Sara watched, numbed, as Ian dropped his long coat to reveal the device on his arm, which was apparently making itself visible for the first time to Irons. Though she supposed the way it was flowing over Ian's body it'd have been difficult for it to mask itself from anyone.
"You stole it from me!"
"It was never yours. Never meant to be yours."
Still trying to catch her breath, Sara was unprepared for the shot. Irons had pulled the trigger. She looked over in shock to him, not needing to look at Ian. She knew instinctively somehow that the bullet hadn't come close to hurting him. She knew, because the Witchblade knew, and was reassured and was reacting.
It spiraled from her, in tens of little darting arms, enwrapping Irons, pushing him to the building'd edge. Sara shouted, trying to control it, control herself.
"Ian!" She tilted her head back to look at him, but he was sober, the tendrils wafting off him like cloth underwater. Had he even heard her ? Her throat hurt. Had it been more than a whisper ? Iron's weight pulled at her, and suddenly she was going over...
A line pulled. She choked suddenly for a second and then there was a hand. Irons was climbing back up! There was the scent of blood in the air and the blue-silver hue of Ian's tendrils were in front of her. There was a blur out of the corner of her eye. A phantom touch on her cheek.
"Sara."
The Witchblade inside her mind screamed. It reached for Ian. Kenneth Irons shot again, but this time Ian blocked the bullet with his body, a bullet that must have been meant for her, and both men were suddenly tumbling over the edge.
The shock only lasted a second, maybe less and Sara scrambled to the end of the roof, peering down. She gagged a second, seeing a bloody stump of hand on the small ledge a slight drop below. But it explained the smell of blood. Irons had sacrificed his hand for his venegance. But where were they ? Where were the bodies ? Where was the crowd if they'd hit the pavement ? Why had Ian done that ? How the hell was she supposed to write up a report ?!
Breathing hard Sara moved to brush her hair off her face, to blink and think and hope and figure out why she was hoping and what she was hoping for. The sight of a building that hadn't been there a minute ago caught her attention. "What the... ?"
Flashing lights, red and white should have caught her attention as they came hurtling down streets towards the base of her rooftop. But Sara sat still, watching a tall spire of a building, and another, and a third, all of which she didn't recognize. She'd never seen that building with the globe on it before in her life. Or the one with the huge W etched into the stone.
Shaking, she scrambled back from the rim. Ohgodohgodohgod. I've gone crazy. It's finally driven me crazy. Or... or maybe Irons was still slowly choking the life out of her and she was hallucinating. She brought a hand up to her neck, feeling the bruises there, the soreness and glanced back to where they'd both previously stood.
Ian's coat was still there, a whipping shadow in the breeze.