EVERYTHING TAKES YOU BACK

[gawdamn.livejournal.com]

the song drabble meme

It's pretty simple and fun, folks. This is how this works!
( 01 ) Have a playlist ready! Don't use all your songs--try and narrow it down a little.
( 02 ) Let everyone know how many songs you're working with. Also, which characters you would be willing to write about.
( 03 ) Others tag your post, picking a character or pairing or friendship or familial relationship or whatever, and then choose a number from your list.

( 04 ) Write a drabble related to that song, using that/those character(s)!

<b>Characters:</b> -Name || (<lj user="username"></lj> ) -Name || (<lj user="username"></lj> ) <b>Number of Tracks:</b>

- reference our previous meme if you're still confused

Comments

in which roy obviously does not know the definition of 'drabble' 1/2

[thom-293.livejournal.com]

Song is Circle (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TVPUqN4q4o) by Slipknot!

---

     Any med doctor worth their UNSC-approved certification would have taken one look at the pair of them, declared them unfit for duty, and have been right to do so. Thom's balance was shot all to hell; he was having trouble walking in so much as a vaguely crooked line, let alone a straight one. One violently torn hamstring, a concussive knock to the head and his right ear still ringing from either the blast he'd gotten rather too intimate with or the wall that had collapsed on him in the aftermath. At least the eardrum hadn't burst - he'd remember the sensation that resulted in getting benched from Pegasi - but he'd be a couple days before he could hear out of it properly, and for now was rerouting all audio input to his left side, disorienting in itself.

     Putting one foot in front of the other had become its own game of cat and mouse. He'd stopped being certain if he was half-carrying Emile, or if Emile was half-carrying him. Even through his helmet's filters, Thom could smell the charred ozone of Four's overcharged shield. The back plate of his MJOLNIR armour had taken a superheated plasma bolt, and there were little blisters in the topcoat finish. He recognized the splash pattern and in it, the fact that there was no way that Emile had escaped the third degree proof of purchase. Add that to the blow to the chest he'd taken from a Hunter's shield, and you about had their day sewn up.

     "You gonna live?" he asked. It took him a second to recognize his own voice over the persistent ping of his suit's warning systems and the hoarse, gravel-consistency to it.

     Emile huffed at him in the manner of someone confronted with a question replete with idiocy. "You think?" he asked, all sarcasm.

     "You see those bars next to my name in your HUD? Gives me the right to ask stupid questions every once in a while."

     "Don't make a habit of it," Emile growled. It was as an afterthought that he added the word "Sir."

     "Wouldn't dream of it, Four."

     Silence, save for their staccato breathing, settled over the both of them. Dropship rendezvous was two clicks away, and Thom had been expecting their warthog to survive until then, not be shot out from under them by the Hunter pair they'd surprised.

     "So," he said after a while. "A Spartan, a Helljumper, and an Elite walk into a bar..."

     "I will kill you," Emile said, his tone flat.

     Death threats, saturnine or otherwise, were a better measure of Emile's status than the silence, and a sure sign that he hadn't succumbed to shock. Thom knew he should keep them talking - keep himself talking, by the way his pupils were refusing to dilate or focus - but for the time being, that thought was enough. They'd survive. Mission accomplished.

     "You'd try," he retorted, hitching his arm a little more comfortably across Emile's shoulders, trying to avoid jostling the worst of the burn site.

     Emile was silent for a moment, and his breath stopped coming in over the comm. Holding it. So Thom had tweaked the injury. He was about to open his mouth to apologize when Emile spoke. "Another building oughta do it."