“You go do whatever that woman wants you to do, you get other people out. I can rot here, and that's alright, I’ve done my piece.”
“I’m not a raven anymore, though,” Lucinda says, tail end of a laugh trailing into somber tones. “Shrike, not raven, after some of the shit I’ve done.”
“Well, I can tell you straight away that if you’re getting a shiv, you won’t be leaving this place without bloodshed. That's what a shrike was, right?”
“Butcher bird,” Lucinda agrees.
“Lanius, huh?”
“I’m aware,” Lucinda says. “The first time I met him, I thought he would be a shrike, but here I am, with no room to talk.”
“Just because you have no room to talk doesn’t mean you're not right.”
Lucinda grunts, then goes quiet.
“When they come to get you, two guards, do you think?” she asks after a long minute of silence.
“Most likely.”
“So we hope they don’t come until after breakfast. I can take two of them, especially if you're being distracting.”
“Got it. Put up a fight, you come in and stab a couple of the bastards.”
“You got it.”
“Good. I’m ready.”
“I’m glad. Should sleep, though. Need to be well-rested for our breakout.”
The spy laughs, and then there’s the sound of a creaking bench, the shuffle of fabric.
Raven. Shrike. Which does she need to be here?
Raven can think her way out of the prison, slide her way past the guards with charm and a smile and careful timing, knows exactly how to twist things just how she needs them.
Shrike knows her battles, sees no problem in spilling blood, feels no qualms about going through a dead mans pockets for denarii and cigarettes and ammunition.
Needs both, for this escape attempt.
Needs both, if this is going to become something bigger than herself, if she’s going to kill Caesar, if she’s going to do right by the people she’s done wrong by, if she’s going to spit in Caesar’s and Lanius’s and Vulpes’s eyes.
Needs something bigger than either, needs something that’s both.
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timeasmymeasure
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (103b/109b)
Date: 2016-09-01 12:44 am (UTC)“I’m not a raven anymore, though,” Lucinda says, tail end of a laugh trailing into somber tones. “Shrike, not raven, after some of the shit I’ve done.”
“Well, I can tell you straight away that if you’re getting a shiv, you won’t be leaving this place without bloodshed. That's what a shrike was, right?”
“Butcher bird,” Lucinda agrees.
“Lanius, huh?”
“I’m aware,” Lucinda says. “The first time I met him, I thought he would be a shrike, but here I am, with no room to talk.”
“Just because you have no room to talk doesn’t mean you're not right.”
Lucinda grunts, then goes quiet.
“When they come to get you, two guards, do you think?” she asks after a long minute of silence.
“Most likely.”
“So we hope they don’t come until after breakfast. I can take two of them, especially if you're being distracting.”
“Got it. Put up a fight, you come in and stab a couple of the bastards.”
“You got it.”
“Good. I’m ready.”
“I’m glad. Should sleep, though. Need to be well-rested for our breakout.”
The spy laughs, and then there’s the sound of a creaking bench, the shuffle of fabric.
Raven. Shrike. Which does she need to be here?
Raven can think her way out of the prison, slide her way past the guards with charm and a smile and careful timing, knows exactly how to twist things just how she needs them.
Shrike knows her battles, sees no problem in spilling blood, feels no qualms about going through a dead mans pockets for denarii and cigarettes and ammunition.
Needs both, for this escape attempt.
Needs both, if this is going to become something bigger than herself, if she’s going to kill Caesar, if she’s going to do right by the people she’s done wrong by, if she’s going to spit in Caesar’s and Lanius’s and Vulpes’s eyes.
Needs something bigger than either, needs something that’s both.
Needs a name made out of fear.