OH BABY, IT'S A LONG WAY DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF THE RIVER

[dousing]

NEAR MISS/CLOSE CALL MEME Ever been in a life-and-death situation? No? Maybe you will be now. Something is happening, something horrible, and you're about to die. Maybe someone you love is about to die. Or someone you hate. Maybe you're the danger itself. Either way, you (or your prey) get out by the skin of your (their) teeth. How close was it really? Is someone in deep shit? Alternatively, this can be used for something else: regular life situations. Miss someone at the dance you want to see, can't catch that criminal you need to put away, whatever. The world is your oyster! • Top level your character. Include any details you might think are relevant. Or don't. As always, we're not the cops. • Reply to other people's top levels! • Have fun!

Comments

[luke_1511]

[The paracord wraps snugly around his neck, hugging his jawline, choking off his carotid and windpipe. His hands instantly fly up to get a handle on it, trying to pry it off his neck as he rolls around the floor in an attempt to break Parker's grip.

It's no use. His feet can't find purchase on the floor, and he can't muster enough leverage to throw her over his shoulder. He bucks and squirms, eyes bulging as the hypoxia starts to kick in. The dizziness and cherry-red skin, the lightheadedness - the end is coming for him, and coming fast. At the periphery of his mind, an emotion he hasn't felt in months begins to work its tendrils into the depths of his psyche, paralyzing him and making him grit his teeth.

Maybe, just maybe - it's fear.

His efforts become weaker, his choked gasps quieter, his movements slower, until, finally - he jerks once and stills.


It's over. Aaron Keener - the SHD's prodigal son - is dead.]

[divisionary]

[He's dead at her hands. Even so, Lindianne doesn't slacken the paracord for another minute or so. Her knuckles are bone-white through the skin; there are going to be deep bruises on the inside of her hands from how hard she gripped the ad-hoc garrote.]

[It's only when the floor shudders underneath her that she finally lets go. She's got nothing left in the gas tank. The air is stiflingly hot, and it's become incredibly hard to breathe in the apartment. A headache has built up behind her eyes.]

[She falls back, lays there with her legs pinned under Keener's body, and stares blearily up at the ceiling. This is how it's going to end: her, alone, having finally avenged everyone who died to get her to this point. The thought is a bittersweet one, and she smiles a little at the thought.]

[Her eyes close for a moment.]

[boston_bruiser]

[For a split-second that seems to stretch out into the infinite, there is nothing but the roar of the flames around her, nothing but the heat of the conflagration that seems to press in all around, to suck the air out of her lungs and the life from her body. This is it. End of the line.

Still - as endings go, it's not so bad. Keener is dead. The Dollar Flu epidemic is over. New York is saved. Those who gave their lives - AFO Wolfpack, AFO Neptune, hundreds of soldiers from the 42nd Infantry Division, and her - will never be forgotten. Some of their names, Lindianne's included, can never be made public. But even so, there will be a star for them on the memorial wall, a legacy etched in granite for future generations to see and give thanks for, and their ghosts will be etched into the concrete and steel of a new New York that will rise up from the ashes and retake its rightful place as a world city. Lindianne's memory will live on. Her toll will not go unweighed.

This is a good death.



A loud thump and a crash from two room over interrupts whatever introspection Parker might find herself in.]

Parker!

[You couldn't mistake that Southie twang for anything else, not in a million years. It gives way to a boisterous and hacking cough before another shout is issued:]

Parker! Goddammit, answer me!