A/N: I wanted to work on some DoS fic, but writer’s block 😡 so here’s some word prompt fic to help me work through it.
~
“Honestly, I don’t really care,” she says, voice so bland and face so blank, that it can’t be anything but the truth.
He laughs. At her fearlessness–not courage, no, for that would require fear to be brave–at her lack of emotion, her emptiness. It’d be infuriating if it weren’t also beautiful.
“They won’t be able save you,” he warns, futilely, because he knows it won’t affect her.
Maroon shrugs, or does her best approximation of one as she can while her hands are tied together behind the back of her chair.
“I don’t need them to.”
Again, Bastian laughs; his shoulders shaking uncomfortably against his own bindings.
—
Here’s the thing: both of them were aiming at someone else, went at each other for being in the cross hairs, and in their distraction were both arrested.
“Who were you going for?” Bastian asks, because there’s not much else to do but talk to a fellow prisoner.
Or ignore them. Maroon stays silent.
“I’ll show you mine,” he adds for incentive.
She scoffs, “Everyone knows who yours is,” Maroon says, and she’s not wrong. While Bastian’s motivations have always been a mystery to the people of this age, his goals have always been straightforward.
“Poor girl,” Maroon continues, blunt but sincere, “Having a mad dog on her trail.”
Bastian snarls, heedless of the obvious, immediate connection, “Leanne doesn’t need your pity.”
Maroon smirks, the first hint of an expression on her face, “Do you?”
—
At about two thirty in the morning, the cameras aimed at the precinct’s holding cells stutter briefly before beginning a fifteen minute loop. A high pitched whistle is the only warning either of them get before, with a boom, the outside wall of Bastian’s cell suddenly ceases to be.
“Took you long enough,” Maroon calls out, standing up from her cot.
Bastian, confused and shaken out of his slumber, nonetheless prepares himself for a fight.
“Sorry, boss,” a young woman’s voice calls back, before someone–two someones, identical someones–step in through the massive hole, “We had to shake Thunderbolt–she’s always been tenacious.”
Bastian processes the scene. “I thought you said you wouldn’t need them to save you,” he shoots at his fellow prisoner, unimpressed.
In response, somehow, impossibly, Maroon steps through the bars of her cell then his, as if she were nothing more than just a hologram. Which is, grudgingly, impressive.
“I don’t,” she says simply, before gesturing at him, then the twins, “They’re here to save you.”
“Your Majesty,” the twins say in unison, before bowing.
He laughs.
JackSGreyson Says 