(a/n - so, horrible histories is over. Yes, I still haven't got over it yet. I have been having countless hh marathons. Then, I mentioned it to gypsy Rosalie during one of our utterly random conversations which you can have on the internet and not be judged. I shared an opinion with her regarding hh and bread - we are both huge bread fangirls - and a plot bunny developed. So, I hope this actually works. I do not own either of the series. I just want the actors all to myself. This will have short updates due to the short nature of hh sketches and joetina scenes. Although when I get more au, expect the updates to get longer. When I have more time to write them. Seriously though, why are my author's notes always a million times longer than they should be? Warning, actually: mentions of suicide, violence, trauma, depression and angst.)
Angel Of Death
Chapter 1
Martina sat at her desk. She looked around the room. Empty. Shut up. Gone. Silence. She was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Everyone had gone. Martina stared at the wall in front of her. She had a crappy flat in a crappy building in a crappy street in a crappy city in a crappy country. She had a crappy job with crappy pay dealing with crappy people with crappy problems in their crappy lives. She had crappy failed relationships with crappy people like crappy Shifty whilst crappy Boswells got on with their crappy partners. All in all then, Martina had a crap life, she thought. And sat there, in her little glass lie-detector, she looked down at her desk. Specifically, she looked at her in tray. Her in tray which had been snapped in half. The two metal pieces glinted in the light that was left. Martina smoothed down her pale shirt, picked up the biggest piece, its sharp edge winking like a knife, and drew it across her throat. The metal edge which had been snapped off cut into her flesh deeply, and Martina sighed slightly as she felt the blood begin to ooze out of her, dripping down her neck like cold water in a refreshing shower. She placed the piece in front of her on the desk as she still had some control over her body, then leaned back, closed her eyes, and waited for the darkness to take over her. All in all, she though, it hadn't been a bad suicide. Why not make other peoples' lives at that place miserable as her final act? It was what she got the most pleasure out of in her crappy life, anyway.