A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter and my apologies this wasn't updated sooner! I did mention it was a vague idea, didn't I?! This fic may move slowly because I'm not too sure where it's going, but please stick with me on this one! PLEASE NOTE: This fic is rated 'R' because it's contents will be somewhat graphic in places and may disturb some readers. If you do not think you should be reading this fic or have decided at this point that it might not be something you would like – please leave now, I promise I won't get mad!
Disclaimer: Farfarello is not mine – as much as I would like him to be, all of our lovely Irishman's craziness belongs to Project Weiss and some other people. I'm only borrowing to entertain my fan-girl obsessions, please don't sue me for it.
Darkness Alone – Chapter 2
The youth watched wind snatch the tattered, pale scrap of material in its searching fingers and bear it away with a flick of its frayed fibers. The pale youth lies on his back, dusty and streaked with coal stains, thick blood coats his palms and the dull blade in his hand is coated with a slick coating of it's own, spattered with intermingled coal dust and flaky russet coloured rust. He raises his hand to his thin, pale lips, chapped raw from the merciless onslaught of the night's wind through the open topped carriage, and sucks on his muck covered fingers, closing his eyes with the contentment of a child placated with some form of sugary delight.
Yellow eyes snap open brutally, thrown from his reverie, he squints at the spiraling, eddying balls of gas we call stars before he lunges violently for the edge of the coal truck, his legs collapsing from beneath him as the unpredictable coal mass moves under his abrupt weight change. He falls to his scarcely clad knees, pale bird-boned hands webbed with spidery blue veins grasp the edge so hard tendons leap into view across the backs of his hands and begin to tremble of their own accord. His feet slip again and his body is pulled away from the edge, his trembling tendons struggling to cope with the strain placed upon them. His head snaps downward in a reflex action designed to balance his body – his jaw slams into the thick iron edge of the coal truck.
Dazed he blinks his eyes and refocuses them, he shifts his jaw a little, hearing it make peculiar clicking sounds as he did so, failing to notice it's distinct lack of obvious movement. Instead he noticed his mouth filled with fluid, it took him an instant to realise that it was his own blood that tasted so good. Grinning a little the fluid slipped over his lips to trickle to his chin, he rolled his eyes onto a grotesque angle to watch the blood. Wild eyed when he realised he was not going to be able to hold onto the ledge and catch the precious droplets at the same time. Dismayed he watched the blood drip gently off his chin to roll off the rusted iron edge and trickle down into the coal filled depths below.
He flicked his tongue around in his mouth and noticed there was something else in there, apart from blood. With a slowly growing notion of what it might be his amber eyes gleamed and he hauled himself up to the edge and spat. The tip of his tongue, two teeth and a mouthful of blood sprayed into view in the moonlight, hovering in the grasp of time for an instant before being snatched away to meet their fate on the gravelly tracks. With a sadistic cackle their owner flung himself off the truck after them.
Airborne for a second, his emancipated body seemed strangely poetic as it arced through the air, long legs flying out behind him. His moment of beauty didn't last very long as he crashed to earth, landing heavily on his right shoulder and rolling into clinging brambles and blackberries. He lay there panting for a moment before attempting to free himself from the restricting thorns, noting well the neat little cross- hatch designs they left upon his flesh as a momento of their experience together. Around this time he realised that his right arm wasn't obeying his orders. Glaring at it he realised it was lying on an odd angle. He watched it for a moment, as if it was a rarity that was supposed to do something exciting to entertain him. When it didn't he sighed, reached over and hauled his misdirected shoulder back into it's socket with a grizzly clunk.
The escapee ignored it and scrambled to his feet, a body part he hadn't acknowledged until now, he peered at them curiously. They should have been pale and almost amphibian-like in their length and delicacy however, they were dust stained and a few of the smaller digits on his left foot looked slightly odd. He took a step forward, realised they weren't going to do much more than disturb his balance slightly, swung his arm in a circle to make sure it was correctly orientated, it grinded slightly to start but then continued it's wheel cleanly. Satisfied the youth began to scramble up the hill towards clearer country.
He reached the summit a few hours before dawn, when a fresh mist rolled across the endlessly rolling plains, a glorious green in the daylight, now a murky teal aided, no doubt, by the thick mist. His amber eyes peered through the foggy hues to make out a dark tumbled down...something. Trudging forward, towards it the object began to take shape. A crumbling brick wall...or two...three, a rotting wooden door and beams. It grew in shape as he approached and upon reaching it, he realised it stood about his height at the lowest part. He entered the ruin and sat down near a wall and gazed at the mist that surrounded him before he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep slumber, arms and legs splayed about him, his hands empty and facing palm up – laced with their talismans from their latest injuries.
Disclaimer: Farfarello is not mine – as much as I would like him to be, all of our lovely Irishman's craziness belongs to Project Weiss and some other people. I'm only borrowing to entertain my fan-girl obsessions, please don't sue me for it.
Darkness Alone – Chapter 2
The youth watched wind snatch the tattered, pale scrap of material in its searching fingers and bear it away with a flick of its frayed fibers. The pale youth lies on his back, dusty and streaked with coal stains, thick blood coats his palms and the dull blade in his hand is coated with a slick coating of it's own, spattered with intermingled coal dust and flaky russet coloured rust. He raises his hand to his thin, pale lips, chapped raw from the merciless onslaught of the night's wind through the open topped carriage, and sucks on his muck covered fingers, closing his eyes with the contentment of a child placated with some form of sugary delight.
Yellow eyes snap open brutally, thrown from his reverie, he squints at the spiraling, eddying balls of gas we call stars before he lunges violently for the edge of the coal truck, his legs collapsing from beneath him as the unpredictable coal mass moves under his abrupt weight change. He falls to his scarcely clad knees, pale bird-boned hands webbed with spidery blue veins grasp the edge so hard tendons leap into view across the backs of his hands and begin to tremble of their own accord. His feet slip again and his body is pulled away from the edge, his trembling tendons struggling to cope with the strain placed upon them. His head snaps downward in a reflex action designed to balance his body – his jaw slams into the thick iron edge of the coal truck.
Dazed he blinks his eyes and refocuses them, he shifts his jaw a little, hearing it make peculiar clicking sounds as he did so, failing to notice it's distinct lack of obvious movement. Instead he noticed his mouth filled with fluid, it took him an instant to realise that it was his own blood that tasted so good. Grinning a little the fluid slipped over his lips to trickle to his chin, he rolled his eyes onto a grotesque angle to watch the blood. Wild eyed when he realised he was not going to be able to hold onto the ledge and catch the precious droplets at the same time. Dismayed he watched the blood drip gently off his chin to roll off the rusted iron edge and trickle down into the coal filled depths below.
He flicked his tongue around in his mouth and noticed there was something else in there, apart from blood. With a slowly growing notion of what it might be his amber eyes gleamed and he hauled himself up to the edge and spat. The tip of his tongue, two teeth and a mouthful of blood sprayed into view in the moonlight, hovering in the grasp of time for an instant before being snatched away to meet their fate on the gravelly tracks. With a sadistic cackle their owner flung himself off the truck after them.
Airborne for a second, his emancipated body seemed strangely poetic as it arced through the air, long legs flying out behind him. His moment of beauty didn't last very long as he crashed to earth, landing heavily on his right shoulder and rolling into clinging brambles and blackberries. He lay there panting for a moment before attempting to free himself from the restricting thorns, noting well the neat little cross- hatch designs they left upon his flesh as a momento of their experience together. Around this time he realised that his right arm wasn't obeying his orders. Glaring at it he realised it was lying on an odd angle. He watched it for a moment, as if it was a rarity that was supposed to do something exciting to entertain him. When it didn't he sighed, reached over and hauled his misdirected shoulder back into it's socket with a grizzly clunk.
The escapee ignored it and scrambled to his feet, a body part he hadn't acknowledged until now, he peered at them curiously. They should have been pale and almost amphibian-like in their length and delicacy however, they were dust stained and a few of the smaller digits on his left foot looked slightly odd. He took a step forward, realised they weren't going to do much more than disturb his balance slightly, swung his arm in a circle to make sure it was correctly orientated, it grinded slightly to start but then continued it's wheel cleanly. Satisfied the youth began to scramble up the hill towards clearer country.
He reached the summit a few hours before dawn, when a fresh mist rolled across the endlessly rolling plains, a glorious green in the daylight, now a murky teal aided, no doubt, by the thick mist. His amber eyes peered through the foggy hues to make out a dark tumbled down...something. Trudging forward, towards it the object began to take shape. A crumbling brick wall...or two...three, a rotting wooden door and beams. It grew in shape as he approached and upon reaching it, he realised it stood about his height at the lowest part. He entered the ruin and sat down near a wall and gazed at the mist that surrounded him before he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep slumber, arms and legs splayed about him, his hands empty and facing palm up – laced with their talismans from their latest injuries.