Rabbiteen
By eMOTIV
Summary:
Yay! More crappy, angsty one-shots! n.n This one was written at my best friend's house in Maryland . . . while I was listening to Jack off Jill, o'course. It's basically . . . well . . . think, damn it.
In those recent comic books, didn't the 8th Brother Blood try and marry her?
Well . . . err . . . what if he did? But like . . . it wasn't what anyone expected . . .
Ouuuu scary monkey. Title comes from the Jack off Jill song, which I dont own
Looking out the small window of her cell sadly, an imaginary cold spear struck through her heart. The girl sighed softly, watching the swollen, white full moon glow distantly.
Another chilled wind swept through the bars, sending goose-bumps covering her body, which had grown even smaller and frailer than ever before.
Laying her head against the frozen stone wall, a drowsiness, laced with death, crept up on her body, like a secret visitor seducing her into warmth and lies.
Hopeless nausea hung at the bottom of her gut, and more undigested slop creeped up her esophagus.
Biting her lip as a primitive attempt to try and tame the overwhelming feeling, she slid her legs out in front of her, laying with her back propped up against the icy prison wall.
A pleaful sigh re-escaped her lips, and her fingers clasped over the openings to her simplistic rags, which hung off her body like a shelf-hanger.
Thoughts traveled freely, without a single reasonable source, and one fierce reminder of a thought struck her mind.
What was her name?
It had not been used for years, now, and she was ashamed of herself to allow her herself to forget it.
There's no excuse, she thought to herself.
Her pale, alabaster skin was tintedly stained with dustings of dirt, and her ribs and other random bones stuck out like pink in a crowd of black. Her body had developed a numb feeling, typically everlasting, and the only thing that she ever felt was the cold wind's drifting.
Freedom was a thought that crossed her mind daily, it seemed. She had almost forgotten why she was here, let alone the wherabouts of her friends. Only one name she clung to, without a logical reason.
Logan.
Where did it come from? Whose was it?
Her lips pursed, silently forming the simplified syllables with her cracked mouth, and bone-dry tongue.
3 years, it had been.
3 long, hard years . . . as slave to HIM.
The first few days, he would beat answers from her.
Her spirit remained high, for she knew that her friends WOULD bust her out . . .
A stubborn, but hopeful 17 year old, head held high, body straight.
Over time, however, her mind twisted into an unknown matter.
Her stubbornness became submissive.
Her head began to hang.
And her body slumped.
Her spirits and hopes couldn't take flight, and now she was emotionally glued to the ground.
Things had become darker, darker, darker.
Until now. She was 21, and utterly alone. Her captor would enter each day, and rape the precious, small amount of energy from her body.
The pain had long receded and sub-sided. Now, she was just living her 2nd mortal destiny.
Playing wife to a mad-man.
Throughout the recent months, she had become to wonder if maybe, this wasn't so bad as she had always thought.
Maybe . . . the 'false' care and admiration was sincere . . .
And maybe . . . maybe, this was just a bad dream.
Just a dream, that rolls on day by day.
Week, by week.
Month, by month.
Year, by year.
Moment, by moment.
One, by one, by one.
The cell door rattled, and her ears perked suddenly.
"Hullo?" came a warm, smooth voice. Almost reminded her of warm tea . . . or melted chocolate . . . or love.
She stuck out her chin, peering out of the cracked light from the cell door.
"Please. Is someone in here?" the voice pleaded.
Her vocal chords were dry and obsolete, but the sureness and warmth that radiated from the voice a male's, and the speaker's ego, were both inviting.
Seconds were punctuated by heartbeats, and both of theirs pounded in unison. She could tell.
"Please," the voice implored. "I NEED to find her . . ."
Her?
She lifted a weak hand, standing herself up and with one quick motion, thrust her body against the door. "Here," another voice whispered hoarsely. What she didn't realize was that the voice was hers.
The male voice belonged to a handsome man, whose skin color was medium, but darkly tinted.
Looking very closely, she realized the skin was GREEN!
Logan.
The name re-flashed through her mind, and the meaning flickered like a dying light.
"R-Raven?" the man whispered.
Another realization struck her. She now knew who she was. Her name, her life, and her friends all had destinies, meanings, and spirits.
This . . . this UNIT that she was.
She was Raven.
Raven Roth.
Age 21.
Brother Blood's wife.
Logan came from Garfield Logan, her secret love.
Her small bony hand flew to her lips in a choked gasp.
"B—" she was cut off by his friendly smiling.
"That'd be Gar, now," he corrected her, grabbing a pair of keys from his trench coat pocket, and unlocking the cell door.
Her eyes widened, as the door swung open. The light was brighter from the outside, and she was suddenly very embarrassed of her appearance. After all, her cleavage was hanging out, and those rags were thin, seeing as they came from her cloak which had been torn to ruins, on her first night.
"Well, c'mon, now!" Gar smiled warmly. "Unless you WANT to stay here . . . which would be shocking."
Raven wet her lips, leaning up and pressing them to his very suddenly. Eyebrows raised in surprise, Gar stroked her hair.
After a few seconds, the kiss broke.
"Thank you?" he said.
She murmured, "No. Thank YOU."
The End