The hilt of Neo’s umbrella slams into Winter’s face. She stumbles backwards, clawing for any kind of defense, breath quickening in her ears — and Neo is faster, because of course she is. She disarms Winter easily, pushes her onto her back, raises her weapon high over her head —
— and a column of fire slams her away.
Winter’s ears are ringing too loudly to catch much of what goes on, but she hears a voice snarl something that sounds a lot like mine and my rival. My enemy. You touch her and I’ll obliterate you.
But that can’t be right, because that voice belongs to Cinder, and Cinder couldn’t possibly —
A hand appears in her blurry field of vision, black and snarled and sharp. Winter can’t help herself from recoiling a little.
“Get up,” Cinder says. “I’m not going to fight you today. Get up.”
She shakes her head to clear it, struggling for breath. “Why?”
Cinder snorts, laughing. It’s not a cruel sound. Winter has always thought she has a pretty laugh. “You have a concussion. I said you were mine, and Neo didn’t listen. I’m not fighting you if you’re not mine.”
“That’s —” She blinks hard. Something presses into her hand, something cold and metal and solid — her sword. Cinder isn’t standing over her anymore, she’s crouched beside her, and there’s a strangled kind of familiarity in her eyes. “That’s. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing’s going on with me.” Her eyes flare bright. Winter, foolishly, childishly, shrinks back. “Consider it a debt repaid.”
“A debt,” Winter echoes. The word isn’t quite making sense. “For — what?”
Cinder smirks at her. There’s a memory there, unwinding. Winter tries to catch onto it, but it slips away before she can find a foothold.
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FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-28 07:41 pm (UTC)The hilt of Neo’s umbrella slams into Winter’s face. She stumbles backwards, clawing for any kind of defense, breath quickening in her ears — and Neo is faster, because of course she is. She disarms Winter easily, pushes her onto her back, raises her weapon high over her head —
— and a column of fire slams her away.
Winter’s ears are ringing too loudly to catch much of what goes on, but she hears a voice snarl something that sounds a lot like mine and my rival. My enemy. You touch her and I’ll obliterate you.
But that can’t be right, because that voice belongs to Cinder, and Cinder couldn’t possibly —
A hand appears in her blurry field of vision, black and snarled and sharp. Winter can’t help herself from recoiling a little.
“Get up,” Cinder says. “I’m not going to fight you today. Get up.”
She shakes her head to clear it, struggling for breath. “Why?”
Cinder snorts, laughing. It’s not a cruel sound. Winter has always thought she has a pretty laugh. “You have a concussion. I said you were mine, and Neo didn’t listen. I’m not fighting you if you’re not mine.”
“That’s —” She blinks hard. Something presses into her hand, something cold and metal and solid — her sword. Cinder isn’t standing over her anymore, she’s crouched beside her, and there’s a strangled kind of familiarity in her eyes. “That’s. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing’s going on with me.” Her eyes flare bright. Winter, foolishly, childishly, shrinks back. “Consider it a debt repaid.”
“A debt,” Winter echoes. The word isn’t quite making sense. “For — what?”
Cinder smirks at her. There’s a memory there, unwinding. Winter tries to catch onto it, but it slips away before she can find a foothold.
“Atlas,” she says, and then she’s gone.