When James poked his head up, the Fight or Flight lever in Ivan's mind flipped all the way to flight. Fisk he'd nearly beaten once when he was fresh and ready, but when he was busted up and James was here, there was little shot.
Fisk was to his right, closing the distance slowly and menacingly - Ivan's eyes darting between the two boys frantically in the moments where the lever ground into place in his head. James was dead ahead, between him and the staircase, and Keegan was - probably - somewhere down below in wait.
So staircase, out. Fighting, out. Left only one way down, and he'd taken the express before.
He hustled towards James at the same moment Fisk's words entered the atmosphere, crouching low in a roadie-run. With an involuntary growl, Ivan launched himself at James' midsection, shunting him backwards towards the stairwell and skidding to a halt in front of it, bare feet gripping desperately.
As James fell backwards, Ivan's hands grabbed James' daypack and tugged it free, whirling and expecting Fisk to be on top of him, the staircase to open with bullets, Keegan's dumb fucking jacket - anything.
With Malice
Wish You Weren't Here (Private)
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The Honeless Beard
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Catche Jagger
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Fisk said something and James hoped it wasn’t important as, before he could truly process the words, Ivan charged him like some sort of wild animal. James’s grip on the shiv tightened, but his arm locked up. He couldn’t stop staring at the grotesque mark on Ivan’s forehead.
Ivan’s shoulder met little resistance as it connected with James’s stomach, sending him tumbling backwards.
He felt his pack pull away from his hold and his left hand was left flailing in the air, grasping for something, anything, but never finding purchase.
And so, he simply fell downward…
Ivan’s shoulder met little resistance as it connected with James’s stomach, sending him tumbling backwards.
He felt his pack pull away from his hold and his left hand was left flailing in the air, grasping for something, anything, but never finding purchase.
And so, he simply fell downward…
“Motherfu-“
Ivan started running. James froze again. Coward.
Cowards.
As James fell end over end down the stairs. As Ivan grasped his bag from him, Fisk closed the distance. He wanted Ivan to hurt. Fisk closed the distance.
He was going to make him hurt.
He stabbed towards Ivan’s kidney. He’ll teach him to turn his back on him.
Ivan started running. James froze again. Coward.
Cowards.
As James fell end over end down the stairs. As Ivan grasped his bag from him, Fisk closed the distance. He wanted Ivan to hurt. Fisk closed the distance.
He was going to make him hurt.
He stabbed towards Ivan’s kidney. He’ll teach him to turn his back on him.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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The Honeless Beard
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The roar of gunfire sent Ivan diving backwards towards the rail as the first burst trailed up the stairs, ricocheting off of the short walls of the ferry - loud and dulled at the same time, Ivan's one good ear ringing through the cacophany. The shiv met nothing but hot air as Fisk missed his swing, catching the cloth of Ivan's white wife-beater and Ivan felt something give, something tug and release as the cloth ripped.
Too much, too loud, Ivan scrambled backwards as his back hit railing, Fisk still circling, down the stairs one eye - Vasily - peeking through the iron sights of an old-school thompson machine gun.
Ivan was up, over the top of the railing, and hurtling down without a second thought.
A few moments later, a splash followed the noise.
((Continued here))
Too much, too loud, Ivan scrambled backwards as his back hit railing, Fisk still circling, down the stairs one eye - Vasily - peeking through the iron sights of an old-school thompson machine gun.
Ivan was up, over the top of the railing, and hurtling down without a second thought.
A few moments later, a splash followed the noise.
((Continued here))
As Fisk made his swing the rounds of machine gun fire sent him sprawling backwards to the ground as Ivan himself fell backwards into the sea.
When the rounds stopped, Fisk took a look at his blade, he felt himself cut something, but couldn’t see any blood on it. Shit... Maybe Vas got him. From that range you couldn’t miss, but then again, Fisk wasn’t hit either. He patted himself to check.
Fucking Ivan. They’d have been lucky if this was it (Ivan moreso, Fisk was gonna make him scream if he gets his hands on him) and he was done, but Fisk doubted it.
He stood up, and peaked over the railing, seeing ripples and bubbles below. Fucker wouldn’t be bothering them again any time soon at the very least.
“Trash don’t float, you fucker.” Was all that he said as he made his way downstairs.
((Fisk continued where he started.))
When the rounds stopped, Fisk took a look at his blade, he felt himself cut something, but couldn’t see any blood on it. Shit... Maybe Vas got him. From that range you couldn’t miss, but then again, Fisk wasn’t hit either. He patted himself to check.
Fucking Ivan. They’d have been lucky if this was it (Ivan moreso, Fisk was gonna make him scream if he gets his hands on him) and he was done, but Fisk doubted it.
He stood up, and peaked over the railing, seeing ripples and bubbles below. Fucker wouldn’t be bothering them again any time soon at the very least.
“Trash don’t float, you fucker.” Was all that he said as he made his way downstairs.
((Fisk continued where he started.))
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
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The Honeless Beard
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((From here))
But it could cling.
James' bag sunk deeper into the ocean water as Ivan, with effort, ribs screaming in pain, hauled himself up on the fourth attempt, biceps quivering and quaking with the effort. The decorative iron rungs of the ferry running alongside its outer shell provided his lifeline, despite whacking into the side of the boat with the force of his grab.
He'd done so many pullups, so many suicides, so many little body-sculpting rituals to get on the show, and for once in this little run, they were paying dividends.
He flipped himself sideways, allowing himself to collapse on the deck of the ferry, inhaling on a rattling breath as he looked at a clear blue sky, his body blocking the view of Vasily's fresh bullet holes from the cameras. Allowed himself to even his breath out, watching the Clipper Ship's mast sway gently back and forth with the waves of either the ferry or the ship - didn't matter.
He clambered to his feet, then, stepped to the side of the staircase, listened to the voices echoing from below.
When he heard footsteps, Ivan grinned.
((Continued here.))
But it could cling.
James' bag sunk deeper into the ocean water as Ivan, with effort, ribs screaming in pain, hauled himself up on the fourth attempt, biceps quivering and quaking with the effort. The decorative iron rungs of the ferry running alongside its outer shell provided his lifeline, despite whacking into the side of the boat with the force of his grab.
He'd done so many pullups, so many suicides, so many little body-sculpting rituals to get on the show, and for once in this little run, they were paying dividends.
He flipped himself sideways, allowing himself to collapse on the deck of the ferry, inhaling on a rattling breath as he looked at a clear blue sky, his body blocking the view of Vasily's fresh bullet holes from the cameras. Allowed himself to even his breath out, watching the Clipper Ship's mast sway gently back and forth with the waves of either the ferry or the ship - didn't matter.
He clambered to his feet, then, stepped to the side of the staircase, listened to the voices echoing from below.
When he heard footsteps, Ivan grinned.
((Continued here.))