Faodaile
Indiana Jones 2.0
Cassia;
The smell of waste wafted around the young woman's being as she fished through the refuse pile. Luckily for her, she was blocked in by two tall buildings, and was several hours early enough to get what she needed before the bins were taken to the incinerators. Due to her small frame she had to lean into the bin, though she had tied her hair up so that it didn't become contaminated along with her hands.
Sure, it was blatantly uncouth for her to be doing this. But she did what she needed to do to survive. Her younger brother Benjamin had school to distract him from his hunger pains, but what did she have? Eight hours a day in a factory? Stuffing a crust of stale bread into her jacket pocket, the young woman hopped back from the crate that she had been stood on. Her sneakers made a squeak against the concrete flooring, and she turned to flee from the alley.
It wasn't much, but it was certainly something to sate her raging hunger. Her family hadn't had anything decent to eat since the Guard stopped sending relief meals to their ramshackle home- and even those weren't worth much. Her cheekbones had began to grow hollow, and the ridges of her spine protruded harshly from her skin. She game most everything she got to her mother and brother, though did keep enough for herself to keep moving. But even then, what she manages to scavenge was never enough. Ben complained at night of his stomach being empty, and Cassia often used what meager pay she got from working in the factory to try and purchase soap or other basic commodities at the market.
But they couldn't eat soap. Stuffing both hands into her pockets, she had just rounded the corner when she felt someone yank at her elbow. Spinning, she came face to face with an Officer dressed in gray uniform.
"Excuse me, Miss. Take your hands out of your pockets." She could smell the mint of fresh toothpaste on his mouth. God, how she'd kill for toothpaste.
"No." The man tugged harshly at her elbow. Her right hand, which had been gripping the bread crust inside of the pocket, was pulled free; her spoils of war fell to the ground.
"You know better than to steal, girl. That is a crime against our Nation." His breath came as something of a hiss. He looked healthy- surely he had never known starvation as she had. It was a common acquaintance by now. She said hello as they passed on the streets, fell asleep thinking about it. Her stomach grumbled.
"It- It was just a bread crust, p-please."
The man sighed heavily, still gripping her arm. "I'm sorry, kid, but you are going to have to come with me."
"No, don't-" He reached for the taser at his belt. She had never been the victim of one, but had seen it happen, and did not want that for herself. Cassia froze, swallowing back a lump of fear and hatred that had been rising in her throat.
"I thought so. Lets get going, now." And with that, they began to walk.
Jerran;
His trigger finger had always been a bit twitchy. Jerran lowered his crossbow, marked with the insignia of the Officers (it had been stolen in one of their raids against the village, of course) and allowed his gaze to lazily scan the forest floor. He was also not the best shot, but he knew that his bolt had struck true by the way that the rabbit had jerked sideways before fleeing a few steps and collapsing. It lay about twenty meters out, now, very still.
He was tying up the animal's legs so that he could sling it over his back for his trek back to the village when he heard it. A tinny noise, not unlike the clap of an oncoming gale.
A gunshot. It came from the west, which was the opposite way from the village- but who was to say that a hunter had not wandered a bit too close to a Patrol and been shot? Dropping the rabbit, Jerran broke out into a run towards the noise. He knew the woods well- almost too well, as he leaped over a familiar fallen log and ducked under branches of the large oaks that loomed overhead. He had no idea where the shot had actually come from, and slowed to reload his crossbow- listening for sounds of struggle, or another gunshot. Anything to tell him that someone was near.
There it was. The faint sound of breathing- ragged, the sort that comes on when you are struggling to take air in. Scanning the forest floor, Jerran's eyes found the man. He was sprawled out, a deep red splotch growing on his chest. Whoever had done this was gone already. Rushing forward, the young man kneeled beside him. He recognized him, vaguely, from the village- the butcher, perhaps. He knew that he had two young sons, nonetheless.
"It will be alright. You'll be alright, yeah? Lets just get you back, alright?" Jerran knew full well that there was nothing that medics from the village could do besides ease his pain. The man's color was already drained from his face, and a slow but sure death rattle had set in. The older man closed his eyes, the splotch on his chest growing steadily still.
"Tell my boys I love them, please. Just.. Tell them.." Jerran slung his crossbow over his shoulder, letting the strap lay comfortably against his chest. He slid his forearms under the mans armpits and began to drag. He sure as hell wasn't going to leave him there, even if he died on the way back. he deserved a proper burial. The men that did this, however, did not.
{ @BrookeDi }
Jerran;
{ @BrookeDi }
