Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
E/O Challenge: Linger. 2 x 100 word drabbles. #1: Abaddon gets things done. #2: Their descendants may have lived to fight another day, but not everyone's been so lucky...
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Mustn't Linger
"The Lord will send fearful plagues on you and your descendants, harsh and prolonged disasters, and severe and lingering illnesses" - Deuteronomy 28:59
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A/N: Abaddon gets things done. Continues on from "All Things Dark and Ugly".
GTD
"For the revelation awaits an appointed time; it speaks of the end and will not prove false. Though it linger, wait for it; it will certainly come and will not delay" - Habakkuk 2:3
Abaddon toed idly at the blood-soaked remains with a wistful expression. She'd had such fun, but she seemed to have finally broken her toy.
She grinned as horrified screaming reminded her that she didn't need to linger over leftovers when she still had a perfectly good captive... who might have lived longer, if she hadn't had a schedule to keep.
Licking the blood from her fingers, she smiled at a gagged and bound Crowley.
"See," she smirked, gesturing in a wide motion to encompass all she had accomplished, but he, despite his clever words, never could. "Bitches get stuff done."
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A/N: Their descendants may have lived to fight another day, but not everyone's been so lucky...
In the Year 7510
"You who have escaped the sword, leave and do not linger!" - Jeremiah 51:50
It'd cost their last oxyacetylene torch, but they'd finally broken into the underground bunker.
"Wow, this place is like... pre-Apocalypse old," Dheene said, stepping into the thickly cob-webbed hallway.
"I don't like it. It feels weird," complained Zhammie, lingering by the door.
Dheene snorted, "No princess-play moments." He stopped at a crunching underfoot. "Salt? Who'd waste something so expensive?"
A ragged mound moved to reveal a matted-haired madman. "Cas, is that you? Don't leave me here, let me out," he raved, his eyes burning an unholy red.
Dheene and Zhammie turned and ran, vowing, by St. Winchester, to never return.
(;,;)