Slight warning for emetophobia. Wicked awesome prompt btw.
- - -
It's freezing cold and pouring rain and the water is filthy and you have no idea where she's going. She's flying up the Grand Canal along with the current, her ragged skirts twisting and fluttering like fuck you, suck it deadweight, too sloooow, ha ha ha. They brush her legs as she kicks, long webbed feet churning the water. You grab at speed, just trying to keep her visible in the clouded river under colored lights that flash and scatter; you're stronger, but she's faster. And she's got a goal in mind.
She banks a hard right into a narrow canal; one flash of light in her hair, and then she's gone. You roar through your open mouth at the impossibility of catching her, kicking your feet hard and angry, too hard; you slam into the canal's wall. It scrapes a thin layer of skin from your shoulder, smearing it with shit you definitely don't want to know the name of, but you just curse it off and grab at a step and pull. Silt and minerals coat your insides like a film, layer after layer with every yard you cover; gargling bleach sounds like a treat. But you catch a glimpse of her and you swim.
She pushes off the slime coated walls like a grasshopper, fast and sharp and featherlight, but she curves like a snake. It's hot as fuck, her twisting and guiding her path with claws catching on the grooves eaten into the walls, like she's climbing through the water, weightless. It shoots through your nerves, up your spine and then down lower, and you're furious simply from that. She goes and goes and goes, through the drowned labyrinth, and then finally breaches out of the water onto the stone. You grab for a notch and pull yourself out, the cold air bubbling horribly through your fouled airways.
You're sick to the side, hacking up as much shit from your system as you can. It slips out in gobs and a shudder slides up your spine. A tiny comfort is the sound of her coughing too, except after she clears her throat, she just spits. You want to kill her. You want to kill her so hard, but she doesn't give a floating fuck; she's up and sprinting in seconds. The splashes of her steps in the rainwater fade away fast, and you scramble to your feet to chase her. You slip on the stone and curse under your breath, not wanting to wake up the ghosts in the vine lashed houses. The mortar is mottled with soot and old spray paint, glistening in the faint lights that still burn even after the city has faded. You look up to see a painted square on old brick reading Calle dei Morti, and it chills you right down to your blood, cold as nothingness. Reprieve is fleeting as you follow her over a bridge, crossing the Grand Canal, and then plunge back into the dark streets. You can just barely hear her footsteps slapping against wet stone, splashing lightly as she crosses the bridges over canals. The alleyways close in on you, towering, dark and dripping with old rust, silent.
The water at your feet gets higher the further you go, like the streets are slowly sinking. It's up to your ankles when suddenly the narrow city vein explodes into the open air of the Piazza San Marco, walled in by crumbling structures. You find her standing on the edge of a water filled sinkhole that nearly swallows the whole courtyard. It's pitch black and bottomless, the water's surface spattering and distorting with the downpour. Her toes curl over the edge. You stop a few feet away, bloodpusher racing in your chest.
"Whoa..." you say casually, catching your breath, "What's with the hell tunnel?"
"That's what I came here for," she says and looks over her shoulder, a wet curl of dark hair clinging to her cheek. Rain pours a thin gauze in between you and makes her flicker like a wraith, tall and dignified with her regal posture, like a ghost queen who set aside her jewelry.
"One a those squid monster freakshows?"
"It might be."
"Fef, that's a fuckin' madness, let's just make like a tree an-"
"They're not evil, how many taimens do I have to raypeat myshellf?" she snapped and the echo of her sharp, high voice made you look around warily for disturbed spirits, or screwy curses, or what the fuck ever still lingered in this forsaken shithole.
"Coulda fooled me."
She whirls and tackles you right to the ground, snarling up in your face with sharp teeth and furious pink eyes. Pure reflexes gets your arm pressed up against her neck, holding her back. Up close, without her goggles and gold, she looks like a pure fighter.
"I never asked you to follow."
You lean up and growl, "Like hell I wouldn't, princess."
Her lip curls and she pushes away with a hiss, stepping toward the edge once more. She turns, standing still and straight like a diver on her toes, heels hanging over the edge.
"Wait up here if you're scared, sandwalker," and she falls backward into the pit, dissolving into black instantly. You are out of your fucking mind with terror, but there ain't no way you're staying, what with her last knife digging into you. Absolutely no goddamn way, so you jump up and dive in after her, the inky darkness embracing you like oil, and you descend.
FILL: TEAM NEPETA<3TEREZI
- - -
It's freezing cold and pouring rain and the water is filthy and you have no idea where she's going. She's flying up the Grand Canal along with the current, her ragged skirts twisting and fluttering like fuck you, suck it deadweight, too sloooow, ha ha ha. They brush her legs as she kicks, long webbed feet churning the water. You grab at speed, just trying to keep her visible in the clouded river under colored lights that flash and scatter; you're stronger, but she's faster. And she's got a goal in mind.
She banks a hard right into a narrow canal; one flash of light in her hair, and then she's gone. You roar through your open mouth at the impossibility of catching her, kicking your feet hard and angry, too hard; you slam into the canal's wall. It scrapes a thin layer of skin from your shoulder, smearing it with shit you definitely don't want to know the name of, but you just curse it off and grab at a step and pull. Silt and minerals coat your insides like a film, layer after layer with every yard you cover; gargling bleach sounds like a treat. But you catch a glimpse of her and you swim.
She pushes off the slime coated walls like a grasshopper, fast and sharp and featherlight, but she curves like a snake. It's hot as fuck, her twisting and guiding her path with claws catching on the grooves eaten into the walls, like she's climbing through the water, weightless. It shoots through your nerves, up your spine and then down lower, and you're furious simply from that. She goes and goes and goes, through the drowned labyrinth, and then finally breaches out of the water onto the stone. You grab for a notch and pull yourself out, the cold air bubbling horribly through your fouled airways.
You're sick to the side, hacking up as much shit from your system as you can. It slips out in gobs and a shudder slides up your spine. A tiny comfort is the sound of her coughing too, except after she clears her throat, she just spits. You want to kill her. You want to kill her so hard, but she doesn't give a floating fuck; she's up and sprinting in seconds. The splashes of her steps in the rainwater fade away fast, and you scramble to your feet to chase her. You slip on the stone and curse under your breath, not wanting to wake up the ghosts in the vine lashed houses. The mortar is mottled with soot and old spray paint, glistening in the faint lights that still burn even after the city has faded. You look up to see a painted square on old brick reading Calle dei Morti, and it chills you right down to your blood, cold as nothingness. Reprieve is fleeting as you follow her over a bridge, crossing the Grand Canal, and then plunge back into the dark streets. You can just barely hear her footsteps slapping against wet stone, splashing lightly as she crosses the bridges over canals. The alleyways close in on you, towering, dark and dripping with old rust, silent.
The water at your feet gets higher the further you go, like the streets are slowly sinking. It's up to your ankles when suddenly the narrow city vein explodes into the open air of the Piazza San Marco, walled in by crumbling structures. You find her standing on the edge of a water filled sinkhole that nearly swallows the whole courtyard. It's pitch black and bottomless, the water's surface spattering and distorting with the downpour. Her toes curl over the edge. You stop a few feet away, bloodpusher racing in your chest.
"Whoa..." you say casually, catching your breath, "What's with the hell tunnel?"
"That's what I came here for," she says and looks over her shoulder, a wet curl of dark hair clinging to her cheek. Rain pours a thin gauze in between you and makes her flicker like a wraith, tall and dignified with her regal posture, like a ghost queen who set aside her jewelry.
"One a those squid monster freakshows?"
"It might be."
"Fef, that's a fuckin' madness, let's just make like a tree an-"
"They're not evil, how many taimens do I have to raypeat myshellf?" she snapped and the echo of her sharp, high voice made you look around warily for disturbed spirits, or screwy curses, or what the fuck ever still lingered in this forsaken shithole.
"Coulda fooled me."
She whirls and tackles you right to the ground, snarling up in your face with sharp teeth and furious pink eyes. Pure reflexes gets your arm pressed up against her neck, holding her back. Up close, without her goggles and gold, she looks like a pure fighter.
"I never asked you to follow."
You lean up and growl, "Like hell I wouldn't, princess."
Her lip curls and she pushes away with a hiss, stepping toward the edge once more. She turns, standing still and straight like a diver on her toes, heels hanging over the edge.
"Wait up here if you're scared, sandwalker," and she falls backward into the pit, dissolving into black instantly. You are out of your fucking mind with terror, but there ain't no way you're staying, what with her last knife digging into you. Absolutely no goddamn way, so you jump up and dive in after her, the inky darkness embracing you like oil, and you descend.