The umbrella was on its last legs. The umbrella was past its last legs, and would basically need little wheels to get anywhere, if getting somewhere was a thing that umbrellas did and, whoa, okay, that metaphor had got beyond him.
The point was, the umbrella was a broken piece of crap, spokes off everywhere and sad little dips in the canvas and a handle that only held together with wire teased out of a ball of steel wool, but it was the only one John had, and finding and repairing it had been a triumph, and he was really proud of it, okay, and not giving it up even when Jade made the sad eyes. (Well. Only sometimes.)
But it was a sad broken thing, and it was failing really pathetically against the stupid gusty storm that had blown up out of nowhere and caught John half a mile from the safehouse he and Jade had cobbled together.
He angled into the wind, picking his way down a slope of rubble gone slick and dangerous in the wet, and the umbrella turned inside out again. One of the spokes flipped backwards, nearly taking out his eye. He stumbled, yelping a curse as he stubbed his toe, and put his foot down on a slab of broken concrete that turned treacherously beneath his heel.
Somebody grabbed his hand, keeping him from falling. He stumbled against a warm body, reflexively steadying himself against the stranger's waist.
"I – oh," he said. "Oh. Um."
She met his wide eyes with strange pale ones of her own. "Bearing in mind that I have a knife, and will not hesitate to use it to discover the jewel-like colours of your insides should you demonstrate the need," she said, raising her voice over the rain, "can I offer you the shelter of my umbrella?"
The umbrella in question was huge and violet and barely battered at all, and John was mostly underneath it already.
"That would be awesome," he said, tucking himself closer. His own broken umbrella dangled from his hands and bumped against his shin.
"Hi," John said, grinning down at her. She was very warm, and her hair was brushing his shoulder, and now that he thought about it what she'd just said had been unnecessarily creepy, and all up it was making it hard to think. "Um. Thank you! That was really neat of you. I guess chivalry didn't die when the world ended, haha."
She gave him a startled look, and then a bright flash of a smile that did weird warm things to his chest. "There's a safehouse half a block away," she said, still raising her voice above the rain, "and when we get there I'm going to need you to repeat that in front of my brother. Come on."
Her umbrella turned inside out halfway there, of course, because chivalry was no match for post-apocalyptic weather. They ran the rest of the way with John's coat stretched over their heads, and it was all basically a disaster but also, kind of, sort of, maybe, a bit brilliant.
Her name was Rose, and she turned out to be just as weird as she seemed.
FILL: TEAM TEREZI >3> VRISKA
The umbrella was on its last legs. The umbrella was past its last legs, and would basically need little wheels to get anywhere, if getting somewhere was a thing that umbrellas did and, whoa, okay, that metaphor had got beyond him.
The point was, the umbrella was a broken piece of crap, spokes off everywhere and sad little dips in the canvas and a handle that only held together with wire teased out of a ball of steel wool, but it was the only one John had, and finding and repairing it had been a triumph, and he was really proud of it, okay, and not giving it up even when Jade made the sad eyes. (Well. Only sometimes.)
But it was a sad broken thing, and it was failing really pathetically against the stupid gusty storm that had blown up out of nowhere and caught John half a mile from the safehouse he and Jade had cobbled together.
He angled into the wind, picking his way down a slope of rubble gone slick and dangerous in the wet, and the umbrella turned inside out again. One of the spokes flipped backwards, nearly taking out his eye. He stumbled, yelping a curse as he stubbed his toe, and put his foot down on a slab of broken concrete that turned treacherously beneath his heel.
Somebody grabbed his hand, keeping him from falling. He stumbled against a warm body, reflexively steadying himself against the stranger's waist.
"I – oh," he said. "Oh. Um."
She met his wide eyes with strange pale ones of her own. "Bearing in mind that I have a knife, and will not hesitate to use it to discover the jewel-like colours of your insides should you demonstrate the need," she said, raising her voice over the rain, "can I offer you the shelter of my umbrella?"
The umbrella in question was huge and violet and barely battered at all, and John was mostly underneath it already.
"That would be awesome," he said, tucking himself closer. His own broken umbrella dangled from his hands and bumped against his shin.
"Hi," John said, grinning down at her. She was very warm, and her hair was brushing his shoulder, and now that he thought about it what she'd just said had been unnecessarily creepy, and all up it was making it hard to think. "Um. Thank you! That was really neat of you. I guess chivalry didn't die when the world ended, haha."
She gave him a startled look, and then a bright flash of a smile that did weird warm things to his chest. "There's a safehouse half a block away," she said, still raising her voice above the rain, "and when we get there I'm going to need you to repeat that in front of my brother. Come on."
Her umbrella turned inside out halfway there, of course, because chivalry was no match for post-apocalyptic weather. They ran the rest of the way with John's coat stretched over their heads, and it was all basically a disaster but also, kind of, sort of, maybe, a bit brilliant.
Her name was Rose, and she turned out to be just as weird as she seemed.