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shutupanddoeet coments so I'll just link to it from here!
Kasabian Empire!Video!AU. Oh the angst. But hey if you've seen it, you know how it ends anyway! Beware of switching perspectives. 1,058 Words. And the prompts I used were:
Set 5: destruction, speed, gambling, map, antidote, energy, revenge
Set 19: armor, death, devotion, fish, soft, resist, enemy
Set 20: bloodlust, desert, dread, remedy, element
Set 23: protect, focus, track, concentration, silence
-
.Wasted Away.
Battle involved a lot of waiting around; they didn't tell you that. Tom was finding it out the hard way, and that way was living it. Though at least he could still say he was living, which was more than a few of his comrades could. Well, more than just a few. They wouldn't be saying anything ever again.
Death and destruction hadn't changed him, he liked to believe. He felt a little numb inside, but he was also bored, paranoid; watching, waiting. Always staring at people suspiciously. Looking at what they were doing, waiting to see what they might do. It wasn't really that he was changed, he was simply adjusting to his environment. It wasn't a permanent realignment.
No, if you wanted to talk about a change in personality at high speed, then you only had to look at Serge. He just wasn't the same man Tom had once known. He'd always liked his alcohol, but now he seemed to be drowning in it. Everytime Tom turned to peek at him (far more often that at any other man in rank), his hand was curled around the neck of a bottle and his lips weren't far from his antidote.
Other than it being readily available, Tom couldn't fathom Serge's problem. There was a war going on, and people were dying. The battlefield was like a desert most of the time, that was true, but you could feel the tension in the air. The energy, the bloodlust just waiting to be unleashed. Tom developed a habit of fidgeting often that he didn't even notice. He was constantly waiting to charge at the enemy.
-
Sergio lifted the bottle to his lips but no liquid touched. Staring down blankly at it, he realised it was empty; it couldn't be empty, not another one.
He never would have guessed before that he was anything less, but he had to admit, he was soft. War was not for him. ot that he wasn't ready to fight, and fight good and hard; he just hadn't realised there was a possibly you might die until now. Seeing cold, still bodies laid out in front of you bleeding at the mouth made you a different person. Knowing you were making the other side feel the same way just to prove a point and keep your own hide safe.
War had always been dates and maps at school. This happened here and people died but ultimately the good guys won. He didn't even know who the good guys were; he hoped it was the side he was on, not just because it meant a higher chance of him surviving, but because he didn't want to think he was following the wrong cause.
It was getting to be too much to think about, and his remedy was to drink and drink until he simply couldn't put thoughts together coherently anymore. Not the best method, but it worked for him, and there was a lack of other options around him.
Tom, meanwhile, seemed to be gambling with death. It was like the more people who he saw laying there dead, the more he began to believe he was invicible or something. He stopped wearing anything resembling his bloody armour, ate his rations of fish and unidentifiable vegetables like it gave him super-human powers, and tried to lead everyone into battle when they had no sense of what the other side were planning. It was almost like he was planning his personal revenge.
He didn't even seem to see what he was doing, and though Serge spent most of his time now unable to talk, the few moments he found himself alone with Tom he couldn't make him understand. His devotion was unwavering.
-
They didn't see; none of them, no-one understood. Tom knew that it would only take one big victory and then they could go home and people would stop dying. Not completely, but not at his hands, and not at the hands of the enemy. If they just had the focus and concentration that he had; if they only listened to what was going on, and tried to track what the other side were doing. He was only trying to protect them all.
Serge didn't understand; in fact Tom would have been amazed if he'd been able to reply at all, the way he was soaking up the alcohol like a human sponge. If he could string two coherent words together anymore it would be a huge achievement. There were actually a good few things he couldn't do properly anymore, as they'd both come to find out. Tom's concentration was elsewhere, and Serge's mind was floating in beer, the silence had eased itself between them like an uninvited guest until they'd simply broken apart and Serge had left Tom alone in his tent. That he had come at all had surprised Tom, when he'd actually given it thought. He himself wouldn't have thought to approach Serge though, he was too concerned with adding a new element to his plan.
-
He was planning something; Serge could tell. He only looked through squinting eyes though, because it hurt to see it. A sense of dread was building in him, slowly but surely; worse than the idea of going to war, worse than the first night being on the battlefield, worse than seeing a stranger die at his feet. Tom wouldn't even respond to the most basic of human needs (and Serge knew he needed it as much as he did), and when he realised he'd lost Tom he'd become far too frightened to try. Perhaps if Tom ever stopped to think about it, he'd see it as a failing on Serge's part, but Serge knew something else had done this; he was already long gone.
Serge could only follow with a face drained of colour as Tom took wilder and crazier actions. Stripped off his jacket as though they might not recognise him as an enemy, offered himself as a hostage and pleaded peace and mercy. He'd left the drink well alone the night before, after he'd walked away from Tom, and would never have to make the decision he was dreading.
He was blown to pieces long before he would've had to resist chasing after Tom stood in front of the firing line. And ultimately losing the battle.
-
shutupanddoeet coments so I'll just link to it from here!Kasabian Empire!Video!AU. Oh the angst. But hey if you've seen it, you know how it ends anyway! Beware of switching perspectives. 1,058 Words. And the prompts I used were:
Set 5: destruction, speed, gambling, map, antidote, energy, revenge
Set 19: armor, death, devotion, fish, soft, resist, enemy
Set 20: bloodlust, desert, dread, remedy, element
Set 23: protect, focus, track, concentration, silence
-
Battle involved a lot of waiting around; they didn't tell you that. Tom was finding it out the hard way, and that way was living it. Though at least he could still say he was living, which was more than a few of his comrades could. Well, more than just a few. They wouldn't be saying anything ever again.
Death and destruction hadn't changed him, he liked to believe. He felt a little numb inside, but he was also bored, paranoid; watching, waiting. Always staring at people suspiciously. Looking at what they were doing, waiting to see what they might do. It wasn't really that he was changed, he was simply adjusting to his environment. It wasn't a permanent realignment.
No, if you wanted to talk about a change in personality at high speed, then you only had to look at Serge. He just wasn't the same man Tom had once known. He'd always liked his alcohol, but now he seemed to be drowning in it. Everytime Tom turned to peek at him (far more often that at any other man in rank), his hand was curled around the neck of a bottle and his lips weren't far from his antidote.
Other than it being readily available, Tom couldn't fathom Serge's problem. There was a war going on, and people were dying. The battlefield was like a desert most of the time, that was true, but you could feel the tension in the air. The energy, the bloodlust just waiting to be unleashed. Tom developed a habit of fidgeting often that he didn't even notice. He was constantly waiting to charge at the enemy.
-
Sergio lifted the bottle to his lips but no liquid touched. Staring down blankly at it, he realised it was empty; it couldn't be empty, not another one.
He never would have guessed before that he was anything less, but he had to admit, he was soft. War was not for him. ot that he wasn't ready to fight, and fight good and hard; he just hadn't realised there was a possibly you might die until now. Seeing cold, still bodies laid out in front of you bleeding at the mouth made you a different person. Knowing you were making the other side feel the same way just to prove a point and keep your own hide safe.
War had always been dates and maps at school. This happened here and people died but ultimately the good guys won. He didn't even know who the good guys were; he hoped it was the side he was on, not just because it meant a higher chance of him surviving, but because he didn't want to think he was following the wrong cause.
It was getting to be too much to think about, and his remedy was to drink and drink until he simply couldn't put thoughts together coherently anymore. Not the best method, but it worked for him, and there was a lack of other options around him.
Tom, meanwhile, seemed to be gambling with death. It was like the more people who he saw laying there dead, the more he began to believe he was invicible or something. He stopped wearing anything resembling his bloody armour, ate his rations of fish and unidentifiable vegetables like it gave him super-human powers, and tried to lead everyone into battle when they had no sense of what the other side were planning. It was almost like he was planning his personal revenge.
He didn't even seem to see what he was doing, and though Serge spent most of his time now unable to talk, the few moments he found himself alone with Tom he couldn't make him understand. His devotion was unwavering.
-
They didn't see; none of them, no-one understood. Tom knew that it would only take one big victory and then they could go home and people would stop dying. Not completely, but not at his hands, and not at the hands of the enemy. If they just had the focus and concentration that he had; if they only listened to what was going on, and tried to track what the other side were doing. He was only trying to protect them all.
Serge didn't understand; in fact Tom would have been amazed if he'd been able to reply at all, the way he was soaking up the alcohol like a human sponge. If he could string two coherent words together anymore it would be a huge achievement. There were actually a good few things he couldn't do properly anymore, as they'd both come to find out. Tom's concentration was elsewhere, and Serge's mind was floating in beer, the silence had eased itself between them like an uninvited guest until they'd simply broken apart and Serge had left Tom alone in his tent. That he had come at all had surprised Tom, when he'd actually given it thought. He himself wouldn't have thought to approach Serge though, he was too concerned with adding a new element to his plan.
-
He was planning something; Serge could tell. He only looked through squinting eyes though, because it hurt to see it. A sense of dread was building in him, slowly but surely; worse than the idea of going to war, worse than the first night being on the battlefield, worse than seeing a stranger die at his feet. Tom wouldn't even respond to the most basic of human needs (and Serge knew he needed it as much as he did), and when he realised he'd lost Tom he'd become far too frightened to try. Perhaps if Tom ever stopped to think about it, he'd see it as a failing on Serge's part, but Serge knew something else had done this; he was already long gone.
Serge could only follow with a face drained of colour as Tom took wilder and crazier actions. Stripped off his jacket as though they might not recognise him as an enemy, offered himself as a hostage and pleaded peace and mercy. He'd left the drink well alone the night before, after he'd walked away from Tom, and would never have to make the decision he was dreading.
He was blown to pieces long before he would've had to resist chasing after Tom stood in front of the firing line. And ultimately losing the battle.
-
 | ![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sour_kitty2006-10-22 10:26 pm UTC (link)  |
| first of all let it be said he just hadn't realised there was a possibly you might die until now this sentence made my eyes go all o.o and then i kinda nodded because really apart from pretending to play armys and such when your little you dont realise that people die until you really think about it and see it on tv. i love how you have them total opposites and slowly falling apart almost circling each other because their beliefs are so different yet their still in the same environment. and ok i know its in the video but the way that seems to search for more reasons to start fighting hes the last one standing at the end of it all He was blown to pieces long before he would've had to resist chasing after Tom stood in front of the firing line. And ultimately losing the battle. i want to sob at this line yo, it hurts omg *lip wibbles* *memories liek woah* |
| truntles 2006-10-22 10:29 pm UTC (link) |
| Okay, so I'm resisting highlighting all of it :P and will settle for just the last bit; He was blown to pieces long before he would've had to resist chasing after Tom stood in front of the firing line. And ultimately losing the battle. Because oh. It hurts but it's so goooooood and so.. wrapping everything up and puzzling it all together in two small sentences. Omg, I can't say enough good stuff about this, it's so omg. And, like I said, I loved the way you described Tom and the way you had Serge see him. Omg I loved it. Loved it loved it loved it! *feels all woe-in-a-good-way now* |
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