Authors note/Disclaimer: I don't own WA 3, it belongs to Media Vision/Sony/not me. Ruskin "The Wildcat" Lawler is mine, however. If you wanna borrow the nutter, please ask first. ^_^
Well, here's yet another dark fic that I came up with. ^_^ Be warned, there's a rather gruesome death in this prologue, although it's not as bad as what Black Waltz 0 has done. (That was awesome, by the way. ^_^ I never liked Travis anyway.) Oh, and watch closely. This is the closest to sane you'll ever see Ruskin come. ^_^
Four years ago...
Pain. His every muscle burning. His clothes and fiery red hair matted with sand. His green eyes crusted shut with blood and dirt.
He painfully drew his hand to his left eye and, pulling off the dirty, ruined glove, wiped the filth away. He didn't bother with his right; he could feel the blood oozing from the long gash running down the length of his face, through where his eye had once been. He pulled his black bandana down to cover the lost eye.
He rolled over onto his stomach and levered himself up onto his knees. From there, he forced himself to stand. He surveyed the length of the beach.
"Sam!" he croaked, and stumbled over to where another man lay washed up on the beach, a wrecked piece of hull from the Sandcraft lying on top of him. Falling to his knees, the older Drifter pushed the this to the side, only to find that he was already too late.
Sam turned his eyes, which were already beginning to glaze over, to the older Drifter. "Rus...kin..." he gurgled, blood bubbling up in his mouth and trailing down the side of his face.
Ruskin's hands moved to where the thick metal pipe jutted out from Sam's chest, dark red liquid pouring from the terrible wound. He pressed his hands to it, watching in horror as the blood simply seeped through his fingers.
"You...can't die. I promised mom, Sam!"
Sam coughed, and more blood fountained from his mouth. "Sorry..."
Ruskin could only watch, terrified, but at the same time morbidly fascinated, as his little brother's eyes glazed, his life quickly draining from his body.
"I promised! I promised mom I'd keep you safe! This... can't be happening... You can't die on me!"
Ruskin collapsed onto his hands and knees, his throat suddenly very dry and coughed until he threw up. It consisted mostly of blood and sand. Flopping over onto his side, he lost consciousness.
* * *
The first thing he was aware of was the warmth. A blanket was tucked around him and a fire crackled merrily off to the side. He sat up slowly.
"You're awake." The voice was strange, unfamiliar. Ruskin peered across the fire towards the speaker, his eyes drawn to the man's glasses, the fire causing them to glint.
"How do you feel?"
Ruskin continued to stare at the man's glasses for another moment before dropping his gaze to his hands. He examined them slowly, carefully.
"Dead," came the quite response, "all dead. Swallowed by the sea."
His rescuer blinked and adjusted his glasses.
"You have been unconscious now for several days. Most of your wounds were minor and have healed, but... there was nothing to be done for your eye."
Ruskin continued to ignore the green haired man, chuckling softly but without humor. He reached for his holster, finding his ARM missing. It must have been lost in the attack. Looking up, he saw his rescuers ARM, a large rifle, propped against a tree on the other side of the fire. He ignored it. He knew he'd never be able to fire it, anyway.
"You must be hungry."
Ruskin looked back to the man's glasses, then down to where he held out a tin of food in offering. Standing, he kicked the green haired man's arm hard, sending the tin flying. A sickening snap told him he'd broken the man's arm. He watched as his rescuer drew back in sudden shock and pain, clutching his arm. Ruskin's expression was neutral.
The man turned his head to stare at Ruskin, his face radiating shock and hurt. "Why?"
Ruskin remained silent, his look not changing, for a moment before dashing off into the trees and disappearing from sight.
Present Day...
It was coming, he could see it. But he couldn't dodge. Why couldn't he move?
The boot connected and there was a snap...
Clive awoke with a start, rubbing his right arm as the ghost of a pain flared then faded as quickly as it had come. Virginia spun around from where she had been keeping watch.
"Are you okay, Clive?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm fine. It was just a bad dream, that is all."
He laid back down, and was soon back to sleep.
Well, here's yet another dark fic that I came up with. ^_^ Be warned, there's a rather gruesome death in this prologue, although it's not as bad as what Black Waltz 0 has done. (That was awesome, by the way. ^_^ I never liked Travis anyway.) Oh, and watch closely. This is the closest to sane you'll ever see Ruskin come. ^_^
Four years ago...
Pain. His every muscle burning. His clothes and fiery red hair matted with sand. His green eyes crusted shut with blood and dirt.
He painfully drew his hand to his left eye and, pulling off the dirty, ruined glove, wiped the filth away. He didn't bother with his right; he could feel the blood oozing from the long gash running down the length of his face, through where his eye had once been. He pulled his black bandana down to cover the lost eye.
He rolled over onto his stomach and levered himself up onto his knees. From there, he forced himself to stand. He surveyed the length of the beach.
"Sam!" he croaked, and stumbled over to where another man lay washed up on the beach, a wrecked piece of hull from the Sandcraft lying on top of him. Falling to his knees, the older Drifter pushed the this to the side, only to find that he was already too late.
Sam turned his eyes, which were already beginning to glaze over, to the older Drifter. "Rus...kin..." he gurgled, blood bubbling up in his mouth and trailing down the side of his face.
Ruskin's hands moved to where the thick metal pipe jutted out from Sam's chest, dark red liquid pouring from the terrible wound. He pressed his hands to it, watching in horror as the blood simply seeped through his fingers.
"You...can't die. I promised mom, Sam!"
Sam coughed, and more blood fountained from his mouth. "Sorry..."
Ruskin could only watch, terrified, but at the same time morbidly fascinated, as his little brother's eyes glazed, his life quickly draining from his body.
"I promised! I promised mom I'd keep you safe! This... can't be happening... You can't die on me!"
Ruskin collapsed onto his hands and knees, his throat suddenly very dry and coughed until he threw up. It consisted mostly of blood and sand. Flopping over onto his side, he lost consciousness.
* * *
The first thing he was aware of was the warmth. A blanket was tucked around him and a fire crackled merrily off to the side. He sat up slowly.
"You're awake." The voice was strange, unfamiliar. Ruskin peered across the fire towards the speaker, his eyes drawn to the man's glasses, the fire causing them to glint.
"How do you feel?"
Ruskin continued to stare at the man's glasses for another moment before dropping his gaze to his hands. He examined them slowly, carefully.
"Dead," came the quite response, "all dead. Swallowed by the sea."
His rescuer blinked and adjusted his glasses.
"You have been unconscious now for several days. Most of your wounds were minor and have healed, but... there was nothing to be done for your eye."
Ruskin continued to ignore the green haired man, chuckling softly but without humor. He reached for his holster, finding his ARM missing. It must have been lost in the attack. Looking up, he saw his rescuers ARM, a large rifle, propped against a tree on the other side of the fire. He ignored it. He knew he'd never be able to fire it, anyway.
"You must be hungry."
Ruskin looked back to the man's glasses, then down to where he held out a tin of food in offering. Standing, he kicked the green haired man's arm hard, sending the tin flying. A sickening snap told him he'd broken the man's arm. He watched as his rescuer drew back in sudden shock and pain, clutching his arm. Ruskin's expression was neutral.
The man turned his head to stare at Ruskin, his face radiating shock and hurt. "Why?"
Ruskin remained silent, his look not changing, for a moment before dashing off into the trees and disappearing from sight.
Present Day...
It was coming, he could see it. But he couldn't dodge. Why couldn't he move?
The boot connected and there was a snap...
Clive awoke with a start, rubbing his right arm as the ghost of a pain flared then faded as quickly as it had come. Virginia spun around from where she had been keeping watch.
"Are you okay, Clive?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm fine. It was just a bad dream, that is all."
He laid back down, and was soon back to sleep.