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howarewefortime wrote in milliways_bar

T H I N G S   F A L L   A P A R T

T H E   C E N T R E   C A N N O T   H O L D


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Ben Wade is confused as all hell.

He isn't sure when the shit an El Paso watering hole spilled into this mother of a goddamn nightmare, but apparently it did.

And, oh, what a peachy time to be without his beloved gun or a horse.

The earth shudders under his boots; Ben staggers out of the forge, wielding a pike.

He shall rule them with a rod of iron, indeed. Ben plans on making good on the promise of Revelation 2:17, starting with the slobbering hellhound bounding for him.

He skewers the overgrown bully with relative ease, and when he turns to meet the next obstacle, he's surprised, but pleased, to spot Ava's profile within shouting distance.


Edited at 2012-02-24 03:16 am (UTC)

Ava Wilson, who has something green and slimy streaking the sleeve of her sweater, catches sight of a non-monster, totally human person, and beams.

"TALLDARKANDCOWBOY!!!"

Ben squints, in hopes of ascertaining it's not Ava who's seeping green, but in this light, it's hard to tell; by the way she's smiling, though, she can't be too scraped up.

So, well, he can't help but grin as he strides over, swinging the pike as he goes.

"Now, Sparklehead, don't you know it's armageddon out here?"

"Are you kidding?" she says. "I was born for this stuff."

Only a slight chronological exaggeration.

Something comes charging towards them; it's got a lot by way of teeth and claws and-- apparently-- anger issues.

Ava holds out a hand with a sharp grimace, and those teeth suddenly chomp down on the forefeet with all those claws.

"... Also I should probably mention!"

Ben hefts the pike, prepared to skewer this mass of rage on legs —

Only two of those legs are no longer legs so much as they are eviscerated stumps.

"Little Miss Irony!"

He's caught somewhere between glad and impressed.

"That was you," he says, and moves to take advantage of the creature's current state.

He drives the pike into one side of the thing's throat, and twists, hard.

Ava grins.

(Nicely done, cowpoke.)

"What can I say? I'm a girl with skills."

"I'd love to know what finishin' school taught you that."

His low chuckle cuts off with a sharp grunt as he yanks his weapon clear.

That blood looks decidedly orange.

Then again, it could be just the play of the light on all this carnage.

The light is strange-- and only shifting stranger as time goes on.

Ava points at him, unmenacingly, with her pink bloodstained scepter. Her smile is a little crooked now.

"I kind of want to find my old teacher and ask him how he likes me now."


--Oh, hey, here comes a crab-demon!

"If you don't get full marks for effort" -- not to mention execution -- "you can knock me over with a feather."

The approaching crab looks wicked in ways not even the Old Testament speaks to.

He doesn't trust this thing, the way it's moving, all clip-clack-clack and twitchy.

It skitters sideways, herky-jerky; Ben's eyes narrow, and his grip tightens on the pike.

Ava regards it (relatively) steadily, despite the quivering of the ground and the thing's bobbing, weaving and general scrabbling.

She narrows her eyes and it stops mid-herk.


"He wasn't really the kind of guy who'd want me to be fighting against a plague of monsters," she notes conversationally.

"Can you kill that?"

Ben switches the pike to his left hand.

Less than a heartbeat later, his pistol is up and cocked; he fires two shots, one for each demonic eye.

(This may not be his gun, but it's serviceable enough.)

Lemon-yellow mucus spews from the twin wounds, and the crab emits an ear-needling howl.

Ben winces.

And then glares as a swarm of -- electric eels? -- slithers from its gaping mouth.

"Well, I maimed it," he says, and takes aim at the crackling eels.


Edited at 2012-02-24 06:50 pm (UTC)

"Oh, gross!" Ava complains.

They're fast, too; one of them's broken ranks and is slithering for her ankles.

She swings with her pink wand like a very irritated golfer.

Ben takes out three eels with a trio of bullets, and uses his last for the one making for Ava's feet.

The smells of sulfur and rot paint the air with each gloopy explosion.

Ben holsters his gun, and takes a literal stab at the center of the nest with his pike.

If he happens to impale the crab's blistered tongue in the process, that's just a happy coincidence.

Ava blinks.

"Nice!" she exclaims, as the crab flails spasmodically.

A grin.

"You are not a bad dude to have around at the end of the world."

"Comin' from the likes of you and your puppet-master magic," he says, tugging the pike free, "I am gonna take that as the highest compliment."

The crab gets another solid what-for; this time, Ben feels the weapon sink somewhere wet and squelchy, ignoring the zing of a mild electric shock that ripples up his forearms.

With another eardrum-rending shriek, more of that violently yellow pus bubbles and froths out of the crab's orifices.

The pike grows hotter against Ben's palms, iron conducting this hellish heat with supernatural speed.

He jerks back his hands before they truly burn; the weapon lists a fraction, but stays where it's stuck.

Ben shakes the residual tingle from his fingers, and sets about reloading his gun.

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