Title: Carryon [pronounced like carrion, as my silly self will insist on pointing out constantly.]
Rating: PG-13? I don't know. I write, I don't know where it's going...
Notes: Time period is odd here. It's obviously not very storyline, as it takes place after another use of the Angel Arm. Some city has been destroyed, and this is the aftermath. Everyone's still alive (and questionably well.) Story contains major spoilers- damn near everything I write does, you know. ^_^ So you can place this pretty much anywhere you want to. Have an open mind in that respect, and enjoy the tongari-torture with me.
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A woman's cry resounded in the ruins, matched only by the desolate shrieks of carrion birds. They floated, lazily, in the hot, smoky air, keen eyes searching through the wreckage. The woman, too, sought something beneath the twisted metal and the stonework, the ravages of what had been a town. Now, empty windows were dark portals through walls that leaned drunkenly, separating nothingness from nothingness. The overwhelming color was gray- a dark, brooding color of smoke, tinted only with the encroaching sands and, farther away, the vicious glitter that had once been the Plant. The birds had a sharp interest in the scene, and drank in the destruction with satisfaction as they sought nourishment from death. The woman was oblivious, searching as she did for something that shone in contrast to the gray; anything, any flash of vibrant color.
Her fingers closed, at last, on a soft puddle of crimson; fabric woven of blood. She cried again, a wordless void somewhere between triumph and desolation. Fingers dug in the debris, the nails already split, the tips broken and shattered by too much abuse. It spread a faint mist, here and there, of red; the color echoed and mocked her, as she uncovered her find, bit by bit.
"There's... nothing there..." Again, torn fingers convulsed, clutching the cloth. She drew it up from its bed of dust, and dragged the thing over her own shoulders, stopping for a moment to touch one of the black buttons, its shine almost unholy amidst the sudden dullness. Another figure, weary-looking but determined, detached itself from the ruins a little off, and came to kneel beside the first woman.
"Meryl..." Warm, large hands came to rest on the smaller woman's shoulders, seeking to comfort as the tall girl sought words that wouldn't come, turning to sand in her mouth. Sand, which blew over them both like a wind of solitude. Alone, the girls stared, eyes unseeing, at a wasteland that had once been a city.