Week five baby :DDDDD This oneshot features my highly traumatized blorbo, Verden, and his savior, Savani. This future scene is now inaccurate, as I now leave Verden in a state where he can't even speak, let alone think coherent thoughts. Even so, I still like this. For those who don't know, this was an assignment for Language Arts, so brace yourself for an awkwardly-written oneshot because I had to shove a bunch of vocab words in there. Since this is a oneshot, you don't need to read the previous oneshots to understand this one^^ (Though my babies do like it when you read them- it's the only good thing in their life [I'm such a bad father /silly]) Forewarning, Verden has BEEN THROUGH IT, dude, this guuy doesn't deserve the Bad Times™ I gave him. So uh, he's not in the best of shapes when he's saved. Mentions killing. Also a physical description of Verden's state when he's found (not very good). Know your comfort zone^^ Guy on the thumbnail is Verden (in good clothes because he gets good clothes after rescue. My poor guy), click the thing for a drawing of Savani. I can only draw her at 1/2 ;sobss; help meee I want to be able to draw a stubborn lovely independent hitwoman wonderful female at all anglessss :[[[[[ No beta we die like the guy who held Verden captive. [Had a hard time shoving the vocab words in this time, so it’s a little too long. But it was definitely fun to write!] She diverged from the plan. Straying from the strict process of the mission was (bleep), she knew this. Get in. Lock on target. Kill. Leave. It was simple, and it worked. But now there was a complication. The man she’d just killed lay sprawled on the impeccable white tile with blood pooling from the slit in his throat, juxtaposed to a sedentary man on a cot. He stared at her almost inquisitively, reticent and distant. Savani assumed he was in his mid-forties, but he looked older and with a bone-deep lethargy. She recognized that look- the look of a survivor who’s experienced too much. Their eyes locked for a long while, the only other thing existing in the room being the ubiquitous scent of blood. His eyes were empty of emotion and life, hers were filled with internal struggle- the struggle between leaving him behind or saving him. Savani knew he needed liberating; tremors wracked his body, sweat glistened on his dark skin, the skin-ill and gray- looked almost like it was stretched taut over his bones, and his bones seemed to be the only part of him that hadn’t broken under an onslaught of abuse. Each little thing painted a cohesive picture of someone who was at the end of his frayed thread. He wouldn’t last more than a day without attentive care and protection, she realized. “You’ll only slow me down if I take you with me,” she said softly, mostly to herself. He paused for a few moments, blinking sluggishly. Then he spoke up, his voice a slow rasp. “That’s alright. I understand. People have done more reprehensible things to me than leave me behind,” he mumbled simply. Savani’s heart tore in half. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t upset. He was resigned, content. After a long moment of silence, she turned to the door, her foot shifting an inch towards the exit. He stared at it too, his eyes venerating the freedom that he never would see again. No. It’s not right. I can’t leave him here, she decided. She moved back towards the man on the cot and crouched to be at eye level. “What’s your name?” Savani inquired firmly, but not roughly. He turned to her again, a faint look of bewilderment in the way his mouth opened and closed for a second. There was a long pause as he thought for his name again. “V-… Verden…” he breathed tersely. The lack of conviction put Savani off. After a sigh, she said, “I’m getting you out of here, Verden.” Verden’s eyes blew wide, and he choked on his breath for a moment before he calmed back down. He paused, thinking, then nodded. Savani turned around and instructed Verden to climb onto her back. She could tell he was squelching his grunts of exertion as he struggled to hoist himself up. Once he was situated, Savani immediately starting moving, refusing to fritter any more time. “What happened to you?” She whispered as she passed the body sprawled on the floor and quickly navigated through the ostentatious halls. “Illicit things,” he replied nebulously, the words weak and muffled in her neck. She stopped herself from pressing further; Verden didn’t want to talk about it, and that was fine. She was content just knowing that he was safe now.
For the (bleep) thing, it's because I picked apart the phrase "suicidemission" and Scratch doesn't like that first word. Previous: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1260892914/ Next: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1267476686