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ladybug_archiveNow I can't seem to keep my mind on any of the stories I should be writing. XD Instead I'm doing blurbs. These are two from different parts of a considered story where Sach gets amnesia while he and Duke are being held hostage at a mansion in Switzerland. I couldn't resist toying with the idea. ^^; Amnesia in fics is too fun, even if it usually isn't handled in a completely realistic way.
Later I plan to write a blurb about when Harry had to shoot Baby Face, and another that will involve that crossover I've been thinking of, even though I think that would work better as an RP. Before I do anything much with that, I should test out how I write for those characters, after all.
Anyway, I know no one's familiar with these characters, but if anyone would care to review based on content and presentation, I'm much obliged, as always. XD
He felt as if he had been asleep for ages---days, weeks, or even a month. It was so hard to begin returning to the real world. Mostly he just did not want to. It was cozy in the world of slumber, cozy and warm and painless, and as consciousness was wafting over him he realized that there was a dull ache spreading throughout his body. At first he believed that it started with his head, but it actually seemed to emanate from everywhere at once and so he gave up trying to determine a starting point.
It was then that he became aware that someone or something was shaking him on the shoulder and calling again and again. This irritated him, and he curled into a ball as he tried to roll away from the nuisance. "Stop botherin' me," he mumbled, trying to reach out and swat the other being away.
Then words finally came into focus for him. "Sach, it's me! It's your pal!" The voice still sounded far away, but he knew that it was unfamiliar and that it sounded sophisticated while possessing a bit of a smooth, New York accent.
"What pal?" he muttered, still not very awake. If he had been, he would have questioned having a name like "Sach" as well.
"What pal?!" came the disbelieving reply. "Hey, Egghead, this isn't funny anymore. Wake up!" In the next instant he felt himself being backhanded, not hard, but enough to snap him more into consciousness---which had been the original idea, but he was still displeased.
"Take your hands off me!" he cried, slapping the hand away as he opened his eyes and began to focus. The young man kneeling to his side was wearing a brown, rumpled suit and a matching fedora hat that sported a flower on the band. He had dark brown, almost black, hair that looked out of place from what the confused man could see of it, and he was staring at the one he called his friend with stunned blue eyes.
"Sach, what's the matter with you?" he demanded. "I know they must've hit you pretty hard, but I thought you'd be okay once you woke up. . . ." He trailed off, obviously disturbed by the look he was getting. He frowned, not wanting to believe the truth that was staring him down. "Sach, it's me! It's Duke!" He gestured to himself almost frantically, the tone of his voice belying the panic that was welling in his heart.
Sach sat up shakily, not impressed by that show of emotion. He rubbed at his head, perplexed over what could have happened and bewildered over who the person in front of him could be. He did not have any recollection of him. In fact, he did not have any memories of anything at all. It was only now that he was conscious that he fully became aware of this, and it worried him. Who was he? Who was this Duke? Could he trust that Duke was his friend? Maybe Duke was the one who had hurt him and now he was pretending to be a friend in order to gain Sach's trust. "I've never seen you before in my life," he spoke then in a haughty tone that hid his feelings of concern.
Duke looked as if he had been slapped. And he was indeed stunned speechless. There were many retorts he could have made, and he would have, if he had believed that Sach was faking or if in any case he had just become frustrated to no end with his friend. But Sach had spoken in such a cold, biting way that Duke was certain he fully meant it. "You really don't remember," he breathed at last, feeling shaken.
"Of course I don't remember, peasant!" Sach returned defensively, still not certain what to make of this person. "Should I?"
Duke tried to swallow his alarm and return to speaking in his more normal, smooth voice, but it was not easy. "Sach, we've been friends for years!" he exclaimed. "You and I and Slip grew up together." He snapped his fingers, hoping that he had hit on something. "Slip! Does that sound familiar at all?" he asked urgently.
Sach looked at him, clearly bewildered. "Nope," he answered. "What kind of a name is Slip?!"
Duke ran a hand over his face. "It's a nickname, Egghead!" he said then. He had thought that perhaps Sach would remember Slip, even if he did not remember Duke, but that hope was shattered now. Apparently Sach did not recall anything whatsoever about his life, and Duke wondered how on earth they would even manage to get out of the mansion where they were trapped if Sach did not feel as though he could trust Duke.
Sach's expression only darkened. "And what's with this 'Egghead' thing anyway?" he demanded. "Is that supposed to be some kind of a put-down?" He leaned forward, poking Duke in the chest.
Duke was taken aback. "No," he stammered, "not really. . . ." But he was not certain how to explain it.
And this angsty piece from near the end. . . .
The room was dark when he entered, and he wondered if he was mistaken to come in. Perhaps the woman had not been lying to him after all. He certainly did not see Duke anywhere in the shed, at least not at first, and he wondered if the other young man could have indeed betrayed him and had gone out looking along with the assassins. Still, he swallowed his sense of foreboding and took another step inside.
"Hello?" he called softly, feeling nervous. "Ohp, there's nobody home," he said to himself when silence was his answer. "I'll just be leaving now." But for some reason, he did not. He could not explain it, but he felt a certain need to remain where he was and to keep searching for the one who had claimed to be his friend. And so he advanced deeper into the storage room, shining his flashlight into every niche and under every toppled bit of furniture.
The entire space was a complete disaster, and it was obvious that there had been some of scuffle there, but not even that knowledge could prepare him for the feelings of horror and alarm that swept over him when the beam from his flashlight fell upon a limp hand draped unceremoniously over the leg of a table. And unless he was mistaken, there was blood on the floor surrounding it. He abhorred the sight, and it made him feel quite ill, but he pressed forward in spite of that until he came to where he could see that the hand was Duke's.
Duke was laying motionless on the floor, mostly on his stomach, and in his other hand he was weakly holding a gun that had apparently been fired in self-defense. He had obviously put up quite a vicious fight against his opponents, but there had still been so many of them and only one of him. In the end, he had not been able to hold them off forever. His clothes were ripped and torn, he had been badly bruised and beaten during the scuffle, and Sach was certain that he caught sight of a couple of stab wounds---which accounted for the blood.
He gasped in alarm at the sight, the flashlight falling from his hand to the floor, but at first he could not bring himself to do anything except stand there and stare. When he spoke, he knew instantly how ludicrous he sounded, but he could not stop himself.
"Excuse me, sir . . . are you . . . okay?"
He felt the dizziness only increase, but it was not entirely from the sight of what had been done to Duke. No, Sach realized that it was largely due to the guilt that was sweeping over him. He had left Duke behind at the shed, and while Duke may have told Sach to go on ahead while he held their pursuers off, Sach knew that he had complied mostly because he had been afraid that Duke would betray him, just as the mysterious woman had said he would. He crashed to his knees without thinking of the reason why, gripping at Duke's shoulder as he suddenly grew frantic.
"Come on! Get up!" he pleaded. "You've gotta get up! Oh gosh. . . ." He trailed off, slumping back. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt because of me," he said softly, feeling at a loss. "Not even someone I don't know. . . ." He did not have a cell phone to call 911, and he knew that if he screamed for help he would bring down any enemies on the grounds. He felt completely helpless, all alone in an unfamiliar country with no memories and a stranger laying hurt on the floor . . . or was he merely hurt? Sach hated the thought, but the blue-eyed young man was so still. . . .
"How about that?" he said, his voice trembling. "You were tryin' to help me after all, Dukey. . . ." Then he started, bewildered at the use of the term of affection. He did not remember Duke, and in fact, had mostly been calling him "sir" since being afflicted with amnesia, but for some reason he had absently addressed him in such a familiar way now.
Taking a deep breath, Sach took hold of Duke and turned his limp body onto his back. As he gazed at the expressionless face, wishing that he could see the blue eyes open again, he became aware of something that only added to his horror. He did remember Duke. Everything was flooding back---their childhood years together, them drifting apart as Duke became older, Slip leading the gang and all the adventures they had been through. . . . He recalled how Slip had left months before, after handing the reins to Duke. He remembered how Duke had gone through such a struggle at first, trying to get respected and acknowledged as their leader. At last he had been. And finally Slip had come back, but Duke had not stepped down from his position. Since then, they had both been awkwardly trying to lead the Boys. Sach remembered it all. And that only made the pain so much worse.
He clutched at his head, rocking back and forth and willing the memories to stop coming. He could not stand it. Over and over he recalled how stunned, how crushed, Duke had looked when Sach had first awakened with amnesia and had treated him with such suspicion and distrust. He remembered the way Duke had protested Sach calling him "sir", not understanding why Sach could not at least address him by his name instead of being so distant and formal and not like Sach. He recollected Duke telling him to leave when they had been surrounded at the shed. Sach had never dreamed that he was leaving one of his best friends behind to contend with their enemies. He realized just how much he truly had believed that Duke was his nemesis, setting a trap.
Somehow common sense penetrated through at last and Sach tried desperately to compose himself. He took his hands away from his head and reached down, trying to remember what it was that he was supposed to do in order to check for life. "Think, Sach, think!" he ordered himself, but unable to come up with an answer, he leaned over and placed his ear on Duke's chest as he tried to listen for a heartbeat. He refused to believe that he was not hearing anything, nor feeling breath. He straightened up after a moment, gripping at Duke's shoulders again.
"Duke! You've gotta wake up!" he begged, growing more hysterical. "I remember now, Duke! I remember everything! I know you're my friend, Dukey! I know you were just tryin' to look out for me, like you said, even though I wouldn't believe you!" His shoulders slumped as he sensed that he would not ever get an answer. Duke was dead, even though Sach did not want to believe it. Shakily he gathered the body into his arms, ignoring the blood that dripped from the stab wounds.
"I'm sorry, Duke," he wailed now. "Come on . . . just yell at me, or chase me around with a pick, or something!" He gave the form a rough shake, but that did not help. "Don't just lay here like . . . like you're dead!" he screamed in vain.
Oh well, I found some dramatic NewsRadio stories earlier, so I know I'm not the only one who like to put comic characters into dramatic/angsty situations. XD; I'm always afraid that people are going to throw rotten tomatoes when I do that. But I can't ever seem to stray too far from my favorite subjects, even though I really am trying to write a couple of Bowery Boys stories that're more lighthearted. **pokes yet two more of her multi-chapter projects.**
Later I plan to write a blurb about when Harry had to shoot Baby Face, and another that will involve that crossover I've been thinking of, even though I think that would work better as an RP. Before I do anything much with that, I should test out how I write for those characters, after all.
Anyway, I know no one's familiar with these characters, but if anyone would care to review based on content and presentation, I'm much obliged, as always. XD
He felt as if he had been asleep for ages---days, weeks, or even a month. It was so hard to begin returning to the real world. Mostly he just did not want to. It was cozy in the world of slumber, cozy and warm and painless, and as consciousness was wafting over him he realized that there was a dull ache spreading throughout his body. At first he believed that it started with his head, but it actually seemed to emanate from everywhere at once and so he gave up trying to determine a starting point.
It was then that he became aware that someone or something was shaking him on the shoulder and calling again and again. This irritated him, and he curled into a ball as he tried to roll away from the nuisance. "Stop botherin' me," he mumbled, trying to reach out and swat the other being away.
Then words finally came into focus for him. "Sach, it's me! It's your pal!" The voice still sounded far away, but he knew that it was unfamiliar and that it sounded sophisticated while possessing a bit of a smooth, New York accent.
"What pal?" he muttered, still not very awake. If he had been, he would have questioned having a name like "Sach" as well.
"What pal?!" came the disbelieving reply. "Hey, Egghead, this isn't funny anymore. Wake up!" In the next instant he felt himself being backhanded, not hard, but enough to snap him more into consciousness---which had been the original idea, but he was still displeased.
"Take your hands off me!" he cried, slapping the hand away as he opened his eyes and began to focus. The young man kneeling to his side was wearing a brown, rumpled suit and a matching fedora hat that sported a flower on the band. He had dark brown, almost black, hair that looked out of place from what the confused man could see of it, and he was staring at the one he called his friend with stunned blue eyes.
"Sach, what's the matter with you?" he demanded. "I know they must've hit you pretty hard, but I thought you'd be okay once you woke up. . . ." He trailed off, obviously disturbed by the look he was getting. He frowned, not wanting to believe the truth that was staring him down. "Sach, it's me! It's Duke!" He gestured to himself almost frantically, the tone of his voice belying the panic that was welling in his heart.
Sach sat up shakily, not impressed by that show of emotion. He rubbed at his head, perplexed over what could have happened and bewildered over who the person in front of him could be. He did not have any recollection of him. In fact, he did not have any memories of anything at all. It was only now that he was conscious that he fully became aware of this, and it worried him. Who was he? Who was this Duke? Could he trust that Duke was his friend? Maybe Duke was the one who had hurt him and now he was pretending to be a friend in order to gain Sach's trust. "I've never seen you before in my life," he spoke then in a haughty tone that hid his feelings of concern.
Duke looked as if he had been slapped. And he was indeed stunned speechless. There were many retorts he could have made, and he would have, if he had believed that Sach was faking or if in any case he had just become frustrated to no end with his friend. But Sach had spoken in such a cold, biting way that Duke was certain he fully meant it. "You really don't remember," he breathed at last, feeling shaken.
"Of course I don't remember, peasant!" Sach returned defensively, still not certain what to make of this person. "Should I?"
Duke tried to swallow his alarm and return to speaking in his more normal, smooth voice, but it was not easy. "Sach, we've been friends for years!" he exclaimed. "You and I and Slip grew up together." He snapped his fingers, hoping that he had hit on something. "Slip! Does that sound familiar at all?" he asked urgently.
Sach looked at him, clearly bewildered. "Nope," he answered. "What kind of a name is Slip?!"
Duke ran a hand over his face. "It's a nickname, Egghead!" he said then. He had thought that perhaps Sach would remember Slip, even if he did not remember Duke, but that hope was shattered now. Apparently Sach did not recall anything whatsoever about his life, and Duke wondered how on earth they would even manage to get out of the mansion where they were trapped if Sach did not feel as though he could trust Duke.
Sach's expression only darkened. "And what's with this 'Egghead' thing anyway?" he demanded. "Is that supposed to be some kind of a put-down?" He leaned forward, poking Duke in the chest.
Duke was taken aback. "No," he stammered, "not really. . . ." But he was not certain how to explain it.
And this angsty piece from near the end. . . .
The room was dark when he entered, and he wondered if he was mistaken to come in. Perhaps the woman had not been lying to him after all. He certainly did not see Duke anywhere in the shed, at least not at first, and he wondered if the other young man could have indeed betrayed him and had gone out looking along with the assassins. Still, he swallowed his sense of foreboding and took another step inside.
"Hello?" he called softly, feeling nervous. "Ohp, there's nobody home," he said to himself when silence was his answer. "I'll just be leaving now." But for some reason, he did not. He could not explain it, but he felt a certain need to remain where he was and to keep searching for the one who had claimed to be his friend. And so he advanced deeper into the storage room, shining his flashlight into every niche and under every toppled bit of furniture.
The entire space was a complete disaster, and it was obvious that there had been some of scuffle there, but not even that knowledge could prepare him for the feelings of horror and alarm that swept over him when the beam from his flashlight fell upon a limp hand draped unceremoniously over the leg of a table. And unless he was mistaken, there was blood on the floor surrounding it. He abhorred the sight, and it made him feel quite ill, but he pressed forward in spite of that until he came to where he could see that the hand was Duke's.
Duke was laying motionless on the floor, mostly on his stomach, and in his other hand he was weakly holding a gun that had apparently been fired in self-defense. He had obviously put up quite a vicious fight against his opponents, but there had still been so many of them and only one of him. In the end, he had not been able to hold them off forever. His clothes were ripped and torn, he had been badly bruised and beaten during the scuffle, and Sach was certain that he caught sight of a couple of stab wounds---which accounted for the blood.
He gasped in alarm at the sight, the flashlight falling from his hand to the floor, but at first he could not bring himself to do anything except stand there and stare. When he spoke, he knew instantly how ludicrous he sounded, but he could not stop himself.
"Excuse me, sir . . . are you . . . okay?"
He felt the dizziness only increase, but it was not entirely from the sight of what had been done to Duke. No, Sach realized that it was largely due to the guilt that was sweeping over him. He had left Duke behind at the shed, and while Duke may have told Sach to go on ahead while he held their pursuers off, Sach knew that he had complied mostly because he had been afraid that Duke would betray him, just as the mysterious woman had said he would. He crashed to his knees without thinking of the reason why, gripping at Duke's shoulder as he suddenly grew frantic.
"Come on! Get up!" he pleaded. "You've gotta get up! Oh gosh. . . ." He trailed off, slumping back. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt because of me," he said softly, feeling at a loss. "Not even someone I don't know. . . ." He did not have a cell phone to call 911, and he knew that if he screamed for help he would bring down any enemies on the grounds. He felt completely helpless, all alone in an unfamiliar country with no memories and a stranger laying hurt on the floor . . . or was he merely hurt? Sach hated the thought, but the blue-eyed young man was so still. . . .
"How about that?" he said, his voice trembling. "You were tryin' to help me after all, Dukey. . . ." Then he started, bewildered at the use of the term of affection. He did not remember Duke, and in fact, had mostly been calling him "sir" since being afflicted with amnesia, but for some reason he had absently addressed him in such a familiar way now.
Taking a deep breath, Sach took hold of Duke and turned his limp body onto his back. As he gazed at the expressionless face, wishing that he could see the blue eyes open again, he became aware of something that only added to his horror. He did remember Duke. Everything was flooding back---their childhood years together, them drifting apart as Duke became older, Slip leading the gang and all the adventures they had been through. . . . He recalled how Slip had left months before, after handing the reins to Duke. He remembered how Duke had gone through such a struggle at first, trying to get respected and acknowledged as their leader. At last he had been. And finally Slip had come back, but Duke had not stepped down from his position. Since then, they had both been awkwardly trying to lead the Boys. Sach remembered it all. And that only made the pain so much worse.
He clutched at his head, rocking back and forth and willing the memories to stop coming. He could not stand it. Over and over he recalled how stunned, how crushed, Duke had looked when Sach had first awakened with amnesia and had treated him with such suspicion and distrust. He remembered the way Duke had protested Sach calling him "sir", not understanding why Sach could not at least address him by his name instead of being so distant and formal and not like Sach. He recollected Duke telling him to leave when they had been surrounded at the shed. Sach had never dreamed that he was leaving one of his best friends behind to contend with their enemies. He realized just how much he truly had believed that Duke was his nemesis, setting a trap.
Somehow common sense penetrated through at last and Sach tried desperately to compose himself. He took his hands away from his head and reached down, trying to remember what it was that he was supposed to do in order to check for life. "Think, Sach, think!" he ordered himself, but unable to come up with an answer, he leaned over and placed his ear on Duke's chest as he tried to listen for a heartbeat. He refused to believe that he was not hearing anything, nor feeling breath. He straightened up after a moment, gripping at Duke's shoulders again.
"Duke! You've gotta wake up!" he begged, growing more hysterical. "I remember now, Duke! I remember everything! I know you're my friend, Dukey! I know you were just tryin' to look out for me, like you said, even though I wouldn't believe you!" His shoulders slumped as he sensed that he would not ever get an answer. Duke was dead, even though Sach did not want to believe it. Shakily he gathered the body into his arms, ignoring the blood that dripped from the stab wounds.
"I'm sorry, Duke," he wailed now. "Come on . . . just yell at me, or chase me around with a pick, or something!" He gave the form a rough shake, but that did not help. "Don't just lay here like . . . like you're dead!" he screamed in vain.
Oh well, I found some dramatic NewsRadio stories earlier, so I know I'm not the only one who like to put comic characters into dramatic/angsty situations. XD; I'm always afraid that people are going to throw rotten tomatoes when I do that. But I can't ever seem to stray too far from my favorite subjects, even though I really am trying to write a couple of Bowery Boys stories that're more lighthearted. **pokes yet two more of her multi-chapter projects.**
