Of sorts. [read: nope. harry is a lot of things, but sometimes rules are allowed to be stretched, not broken.] My recovery is well ahead of schedule, I assure you.
Not necessary, but if you insist it would be terribly rude to refuse. And we certainly cannot stand for that, can we?
life is a butt :c but yes that is my fave gif set!!!
( she's not sure she takes your assurance at face value, harry (unsure) )
Do you like house plants ( roxy goes to type 'Galahad', but she hasn't been kept in the loop about which agent with an infuriating aversion to the medical ward is actually going to maintain that mantel, and quickly improvised: ) ?
( the bruises on her legs and arms are roughly ten hours old. they smart — falling off various tall buildings and roughing it with serbian goons thrice her bodyweight tend to result in bruises that fucking smart — with the handful of advil she'd downed only just taking the edge off. but she's had worse. they've all had worse, and this can be toughed out with minimal complaining. the team in medical at hq had bore the brunt of her attitude.
peeling back out into traffic, she gives eggsy a somewhat tired smile, but a smile all the same. )
[Eggsy has taken his share of beatings, both before and after becoming a Kingsman. It's something that he's learned to deal with, but that doesn't make it hurt any less when it happens. Roxy has never been one to complain even when things get really bad, and Eggsy does what he can to follow by her example.
It's great having her as a coworker and a friend, because they both can help each other out with the things they're not as comfortable with or used to.
That question causes him to laugh lowly as he sinks against the passenger seat, slumping more than sitting.]
'Course I did. Woulda invited you out, 'cept I figured you'd need your rest.
[A thought which had not occurred to him once he'd been a few drinks deep.]
— so I'll have plenty of time to rest. And drink myself into oblivion.
( it's an exceptionally short drive to his house, and while roxy doesn't really have to focus on merging, she's an excellent driver and is gradually working her way through piloting all of the airborne vehicles in the expansive garage at kingsman hq, but she plays by the rules on civilian turf; checks her blindspot and focuses on not hitting pedestrians.
until she wants to focus on eggsy. ) This was for fun, right? Not a new coping mechanism for post-mission anxieties or anything I should worry about?
[It's their first mission, and Eggsy had high hopes for how it would go. Lancelot and Galahad, working together, taking the world by storm, all that good stuff.
In some ways, it's gone entirely as expected, because what good Kingsman assignment doesn't end with one's life being put in danger? The thing is, they'd been so close to getting in and out of the office building without anyone being the wiser. They'd downloaded all the necessary information from the server onto their flash drives (complete with Kingsman logo, of course), yet on the way out they'd somehow tripped an alarm (how is something Merlin's still trying to sort out) -- and, well, here they are.
Here being the garage of the building. They need a getaway vehicle, and they need it now. Eggsy has stolen a car or two, so he's got that part covered, but he can hear a stampede of footsteps coming from an opposite hallway, and he can guess that whoever they belong to, they're armed to the teeth.]
Shit, shit shit --
[He's on his back, laid out across the driver's seat with his head underneath the steering wheel as he hotwires as fast as he can without killing himself in the process. One last touch, and the engine purrs to life. He doesn't even have time to be triumphant about it. Roxy's busy covering him, but if they stay here much longer they're both likely to get shot. Eggsy yanks himself up so that he's sitting, though with one leg hanging out of the open door.]
Come on, get in, who's driving?
[Eggsy would never assume that it's him, especially given what Roxy has said about his driving skills before. Then again, this is the exact kind of situation that he thrives in, and he has absolutely zero plans to drive backward unless absolutely necessary.
Still, he turns toward Roxy, poised to move where he needs to based on her response.]
( she's got an answer on the tip of her tongue, a none too gentle move over, but is very rudely interrupted.
by gun fire.
and roxy has her own piece out, pulled from the shoulder holster inside her suit jacket, but one .9mm is nothing against what she'd hazard — between the shouting of the guards, and the sheer veolcity of rat tat tat bullets against the car flank and the heavy concrete beneath their feet — six questionably trained but violently enthusiastic patrolmen with semiautomatic weapons. )
Shit, ( roxy practically spits, throwing a bulletproof arm across her face as she darted around the front of the car; ducked around the hood and yanked open the passenger door before practically somersaulting into the seat with all the grace and coordination of a fish. )
You are — just drive, Eggsy, christ.
( because the car was nice, but their suits were probably considerably nicer. )
[The moment that the gunfire starts and Roxy has to dodge around the car to get to the other door, Eggsy swings his arm out of the driver's window to aim some return fire at their pursuers. He manages to get one of them in the gut and watches as he crumples to the ground, and by then Roxy has made her way into the car.
Well, it may not be ideal from Roxy's perspective, but there's nothing to do for it. He'll have to drive.]
Don't have to tell me twice! [He would rather not find out whether or not this car is armored, although he gets the feeling that there's no avoiding that. Eggsy slides his gun back into his holster and starts the car up, revving the engine at the men who are after them as one last fuck you before he peels out of the garage at a dangerously fast pace.
This may not be how they'd wanted the mission to turn out, and Eggsy can picture Merlin smacking his forehead in his mind's eye, but he can't deny the excitement that comes along with this, his heart beating a quick but steady rhythm in his chest.
They barrel out onto the street, the back of the car dovetailing slightly, but Eggsy can already hear other engines starting up behind them. He turns to look at Roxy as he drives.]
So we can either try and lose 'em, or just get to a safehouse and pick them off there! Preferences? [It'll change where he drives, so he needs an answer fast.]
in-out-up-down — glory, and another threat to society neatly neutralized before the situation got out of hand. merlin had been all about preventative action after they'd gotten on top of the widespread petty ("petty", destructive but not quite on a global scale) crime that had sprung up in the wake of v-day. given, it'd taken about eighteen months to restore world order. and after breaking up her last militia cult (who'd had a hefty stock of military grade weapons in the basement right next to the baby formula), roxy had been tired. she can't imagine eggsy being anything short of exhausted, either, what with half their numbers being held up with delapidating (most likely permanent; stamps of retirement) injuries or else dead (a la chester king), merlin had been running them all ragged in the pursuit of peace. and lancelot and galahad especially.
they were the newest recruits; the youngest and the quickest to bounce back from minor (basically everything short of a broken neck by their handlers standards) injuries, so they got most of the grunt work. less of the missions that involved high heels and silk ties; dancing or cordial, thinly veiled conversation with dangerous people or government officials (who were sometimes the same person, in the right setting). no, they got the heavy lifting, so to speak; the missions where the odds were visibly stacked against them and there was at least one near death experience or close call an evening; the ones that called for heavy body armor and risky stunts.
...like dropping from an absolutely silent, black aircarrier in the dead of night; strapped into tight, reinforced halo suits and parachuting onto the roof of a heavily guarded private estate of a man who was rumored to be planning the assasination of a few important persons.
it was supposed to be easy. then they'd get a few weeks off, merlin had promised, and they'd made tentative plans to finally go out together to get shitfaced. then roxy was going to watch jb when eggsy and his mum and sister went on a little holiday to finistère, and she'd made a few tentative plans of her own to visit family. the job was a job, and even if it was one her mother would undoubtedly complain about (a tailor, roxanne, really?) it was important to steal what few moments they had with the ones they loved in order to keep them grounded. now she understood why her godfather had spent so many weekends in their guest room and had so readily indulged her desire to play, and likewise couldn't wait to see even the most distant of cousins. all that stood between them and their long weekend was this one last mission.
and it'd been supposed to be easy.
that's her distressed mantra when everything starts to go to shit. when the alarm system that was supposed to have been disabled suddenly blared back to life; when dogs started barking and lights flickering on before they'd even disconnected from their chute trappings and made it inside. then there'd been the guards; not many of them, but enough to make their lives hell and mission near impossible. they'd seperated, having only their ear pieces to relay important tidbits of information whilst trying not to get shot. well, fatally shot; their suits are sleeker than the average high altitude low opening attire, and completely bulletproof, as kingsman does. but that doesn't mean we'll walk away completely unscated, roxy thinks while she's pinned behind a statue and steadily running out of ammo to return fire with. not that her depleating bullet supply matters in the long run, because it turns out that their mark hadn't been intending to take out presidents and kings with anything quite so mundane as bullets or poison.
no, he'd intended to use a bomb. and he had on already; primed and fully opperational in his basement. and maybe it's a misguided attempt to kill his would-be assassins (retcon quickly became terminate him from merlin's end) or maybe it'd been a really efficient suicide, but the man trips it, and neigh ten seconds after she and eggsy figure out what's happening, their entire world explodes in a wash of red and pain.
roxy doesn't remember the time between the heat blasting her face and slowly waking up on grass. and now, lying amoung the wreckage and smouldering chunks of house littering the lawn, roxy can just barely make out another crumpled body s few yards away through the haze of heat and floating plaster dust. but she can discern enough to tell that he's wearing a halo suit as well, and that his previously immaculately combed hair was now a mess and full of soot from the settling explosion. )
Galahad? ( she rasps, something like dread curling in her stomach and trying to force its way up her throat like bile. he's so still and that scares the shit out of her. until the lump of eggsy groans and convulses in weak coughs.
then there's a relieved laugh on roxy's lips that quickly turns into a sharp, painful intake of breath and has her clutching at her side when she tries to sit up. even in flickering firelight, and even against the sleek black material of her insulated glove, she can see the sticky red of oxygenated blood.
and there's a lot of it. )
Oh, ( roxy wheezes again. then a very real panic seeps into her voice as she presses on the wound again — not that the pressure from her palm seems to be doing much for the bloodloss; now it's just oozing through her fingers instead of falling directly on the ground from the deep, roughly pound sized puncture just above her perlvis. ) Eggsy, Eggsy I can't — ( move ) — hear Merlin.
[Yes, Eggsy had gone into this mission tired. Dead tired, in fact, run ragged and fraying at the edges and really in no position to be tackling yet another high-risk mission. There's hardly any space for him to refuse, though. He would never dare to tell Merlin that he's not up to something. Eggsy wouldn't want to admit to himself that he's not tough enough for the job. He worked so hard to make it here, and the world had almost fallen apart right as he'd become a Knight. Which means that it's been nonstop since then, which is honestly his style, but even someone as young and reckless as him has a limit.
That limit has been blatantly ignored in place of him and Roxy parachuting in for what should have been a relatively simple assignment compared to what they've been doing lately. One last hurrah before they're given some well-earned time off, and Eggsy has been so excited for the chance to take his family on a proper holiday. He'd made all of the reservations well in advance, and his free time this past week has been spent anticipating the beautiful landscapes in France.
The problem being that Eggsy was fucked from the start with this. He parachutes in already injured, sporting some bruised ribs and about twenty stitches down his side from his last mission. He and Roxy are young, so they're expected to heal quickly and keep going, with no time for convalescence unless they are literally in a state where they can't walk. Which thankfully hasn't happened so far.
At one point, Eggsy had made an offhanded comment about how he far preferred the missions that involved gunfights and car chases to those that required he go undercover and pretend to be some rich tosser. He's severely regretting that now, although he doubts that his opinion actually has that much to do with how Merlin picks out missions for them.
It doesn't make much of a difference, now that the alarm has been sounded (and to think, they'd actually been on a roll with not setting them off, and that's all been ruined) and Eggsy is racing through the facility in search of their target, shooting at everything that moves. His skill with wetwork definitely comes in handy in these situations, but as more and more armed guards show up, he's reminded far too much of his raid on Valentine's bunker. Except that this time, they don't have convenient head exploding devices to fall back on.
But Roxy is here, Eggsy reminds himself. Roxy is here -- and together, the two of them can do anything, can't they? They make plans to reconvene by the front lawn, figuring that they'll have a better chance of making a stand if they're working together. And the thing is, Eggsy has just about made it there. He's only about ten yards away from Roxy when the bomb goes off, but then the world goes white. He's completely blinded by the blast, and his scrambled mind registers that he's been shoved against a wall, when the reality is that he hit the ground hard.
He actually blacks out for a few seconds there, coming to with blurry vision and pain running all through his chest and torso. Eggsy had already been battered before this, and the blast from the explosion hasn't made that any better. He's pretty sure that searing pain in his side in because his stitches just got torn open, and he's struggling to get any air in with how much his ribs ache.
When he does finally cough the dust out of his lungs and draw in breath, it hurts and he groans. At first all he sees is the fire of the explosion casting light over the wreckage, but then he remembers that Roxy must be somewhere here too, and her voice comes through, saying his name, except it's so thready and weak--
Eggsy relies on adrenaline to force himself up until he's sitting, and then he spots Roxy laid out on the grass, one of her gloved hands pressed against her side. Even from here, he can see that she's bleeding, with some of the grass near her stained red. Some sort of shrapnel from the explosion must have penetrated right through her halo suit. Eggsy may feel like utter shit, but he can still move. No, he has to, he has to get to her.
So he crawls over, head ducked in case there's anyone around them who might still try to get a shot in, and makes it to Roxy as quick as he can. Which, unfortunately, is not quick at all. His entire upper body is throbbing with pain and he can feel the blood at his side seeping over his skin and sticking to his suit.]
The explosion must've knocked out transmissions. [Merlin will be back on as soon as he can. He has to be, because they need extraction and they need it now. Eggsy doesn't have any field supplies to do first aid. They hadn't been able to carry much on them given that they'd been parachuting in, and so there's very little he can actually do to help with Roxy's bleeding. Which, as he gets closer, he can see is bad. The material of the suit has been burned away at the injury site, and Eggsy can barely make out what else is happening for all the blood.
He leans over her and presses both hands down on the wound. It's going to hurt, but it's better than her bleeding out on him.] Roxy. [He doesn't bother with codenames, but just looks right into her eyes, forcing her to focus on him. She's going to go into shock if he's not careful.] Listen. You're going to be fine, you hear me? You have to be. There's no way I'm letting --
[His voice breaks then, and he cuts off, bowing his head to look at his hands braced over the wound. He can't go through this again. He can't let this happen again. He's already lost one friend, he's not about to lose another. No fucking way, it just isn't fair, and he refuses.]
( her vision is swimming a little; it's either tears or bloodloss, but she has to blink a lot in order to keep some semblance of focus on anything. pain offers a warm darkness that threatens to creep over her; unconsciousness is a natural response to truama and very tempting. but you don't get to be a kingsman, don't get through the tests without some well refined survival instincts, and hers are screaming at her to not pass out. she can't keep pressure on her wound if her eyes roll back in her head and everything goes black.
but then eggsy's at her side. he's not, then she blinks and he's there, and roxy thinks maybe she's already fading until his hands knock hers out of the way and he's suddenly pressing down on her wound with all the weight he can muster. and it hurts like hell. it's like being stabbed with a flying piece of metal all over again, and fresh pain electrifies all of her nerve endings. she arches under his hands, groans like an animal dying, but grips his wrist as hard as she can (not very hard) in order to beg him not to let go.
not to not let.
just to not let go. )
I think I'm a little fucked. ( she tries to laugh, and it hurts. once a pool of blood reaches a certain diameter, there's nothing to do. the grass is dark and wet beneath her, but roxy can't tell how much of it is blood, dew, and slick sweat inside her halo suit. all she really knows is that eggsy's voice is cracking and he's putting up a brave front, but it's cracking. yeah. fucked.
it's an occupational hazard. )
Can you — can you do me a favor? ( rox i need a favor. ) Will you tell my dad I love him? ( and tell her i love her. )
[ the waves are thrashing, a nasty storm brewing above, which only means that, at the surface, there must be true chaos. Charlie has been told countless times to remain under, to keep his distance even from the bottoms of boats, from the hulls of capsized, wooden behemoths, that they are not to be trusted.
and of course, Charlie believes it. he knows the tales, knows too well what humans are capable of (his father had been injured by one during one of the great human wars), and yet he has never been a particularly cautious creature. when told to avoid something, he charges at it, head first, all defiance and easy arrogance.
which may well be the reason he's breached the surface in the quaking moments after a storm, when the seas are still turbulent and torpid, when the air whips across his pale face, pushing even heavy wet curls out of his face, when somewhere on the shores he hears shouts of mayday and overboard and help her but he's not wholly familiar with the meaning of these words, the danger they convey in the muggy, misty afternoon.
but it's the strange, hulking sound of weight hitting water, of new ripples being created in storm waters, that draws his attention. he becomes nothing but a flash of dazzling amber ombre, the flick of a maroon flecked tail, sinking into the dark depths in search of what may have come crashing unceremoniously (and unwelcomed) into his realm. could humans breathe under water? could they swim? peculiar, how little he knows. ]
i'm assuming by the time u get up captcha will be around so fuck that
[The next morning, Roxy will wake up to another picture text, this time of Eggsy curled up in a plush doggy bed with JB tucked against his chest like a rugby ball, Tiberius sitting on the floor beside them both looking very confused.]
Tiberius wants to go to bed but it's proving to be rather difficult.
( this is what happens when you get stabbed with shrapnel and need to take some time off.
why don't you pick up a hobby? eggsy had asked. roxy had scoffed, but had bought a pair of knitting needles because she was convinced they could be used as a weapon; subsequently she'd had to be escorted out of the shooting range by a very stern uk hq nurse. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( tfln )
Omg sorry for late.....life pls also that gifset is so good
Not necessary, but if you insist it would be terribly rude to refuse. And we certainly cannot stand for that, can we?
life is a butt :c but yes that is my fave gif set!!!
Do you like house plants ( roxy goes to type 'Galahad', but she hasn't been kept in the loop about which agent with an infuriating aversion to the medical ward is actually going to maintain that mantel, and quickly improvised: ) ?
( tfln )
no subject
It's great having her as a coworker and a friend, because they both can help each other out with the things they're not as comfortable with or used to.
That question causes him to laugh lowly as he sinks against the passenger seat, slumping more than sitting.]
'Course I did. Woulda invited you out, 'cept I figured you'd need your rest.
[A thought which had not occurred to him once he'd been a few drinks deep.]
no subject
( aka ten days paid vacation holla at your girl )
— so I'll have plenty of time to rest. And drink myself into oblivion.
( it's an exceptionally short drive to his house, and while roxy doesn't really have to focus on merging, she's an excellent driver and is gradually working her way through piloting all of the airborne vehicles in the expansive garage at kingsman hq, but she plays by the rules on civilian turf; checks her blindspot and focuses on not hitting pedestrians.
until she wants to focus on eggsy. ) This was for fun, right? Not a new coping mechanism for post-mission anxieties or anything I should worry about?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
sorry for the delay, i was moving!
no worries!! i hope it went smoothly
it did! thank you, you're lovely
c: and this thread is lovely
OH GOOD! im glad you're enjoying it is much as I am c:
most definitely!!
♥
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
( tfln )
no subject
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
In some ways, it's gone entirely as expected, because what good Kingsman assignment doesn't end with one's life being put in danger? The thing is, they'd been so close to getting in and out of the office building without anyone being the wiser. They'd downloaded all the necessary information from the server onto their flash drives (complete with Kingsman logo, of course), yet on the way out they'd somehow tripped an alarm (how is something Merlin's still trying to sort out) -- and, well, here they are.
Here being the garage of the building. They need a getaway vehicle, and they need it now. Eggsy has stolen a car or two, so he's got that part covered, but he can hear a stampede of footsteps coming from an opposite hallway, and he can guess that whoever they belong to, they're armed to the teeth.]
Shit, shit shit --
[He's on his back, laid out across the driver's seat with his head underneath the steering wheel as he hotwires as fast as he can without killing himself in the process. One last touch, and the engine purrs to life. He doesn't even have time to be triumphant about it. Roxy's busy covering him, but if they stay here much longer they're both likely to get shot. Eggsy yanks himself up so that he's sitting, though with one leg hanging out of the open door.]
Come on, get in, who's driving?
[Eggsy would never assume that it's him, especially given what Roxy has said about his driving skills before. Then again, this is the exact kind of situation that he thrives in, and he has absolutely zero plans to drive backward unless absolutely necessary.
Still, he turns toward Roxy, poised to move where he needs to based on her response.]
no subject
by gun fire.
and roxy has her own piece out, pulled from the shoulder holster inside her suit jacket, but one .9mm is nothing against what she'd hazard — between the shouting of the guards, and the sheer veolcity of rat tat tat bullets against the car flank and the heavy concrete beneath their feet — six questionably trained but violently enthusiastic patrolmen with semiautomatic weapons. )
Shit, ( roxy practically spits, throwing a bulletproof arm across her face as she darted around the front of the car; ducked around the hood and yanked open the passenger door before practically somersaulting into the seat with all the grace and coordination of a fish. )
You are — just drive, Eggsy, christ.
( because the car was nice, but their suits were probably considerably nicer. )
no subject
Well, it may not be ideal from Roxy's perspective, but there's nothing to do for it. He'll have to drive.]
Don't have to tell me twice! [He would rather not find out whether or not this car is armored, although he gets the feeling that there's no avoiding that. Eggsy slides his gun back into his holster and starts the car up, revving the engine at the men who are after them as one last fuck you before he peels out of the garage at a dangerously fast pace.
This may not be how they'd wanted the mission to turn out, and Eggsy can picture Merlin smacking his forehead in his mind's eye, but he can't deny the excitement that comes along with this, his heart beating a quick but steady rhythm in his chest.
They barrel out onto the street, the back of the car dovetailing slightly, but Eggsy can already hear other engines starting up behind them. He turns to look at Roxy as he drives.]
So we can either try and lose 'em, or just get to a safehouse and pick them off there! Preferences? [It'll change where he drives, so he needs an answer fast.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
/bullshits about armored cars
shhhhh bs is the rp way
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
( tfln )
fuck u captcha
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
666th tag
in-out-up-down — glory, and another threat to society neatly neutralized before the situation got out of hand. merlin had been all about preventative action after they'd gotten on top of the widespread petty ("petty", destructive but not quite on a global scale) crime that had sprung up in the wake of v-day. given, it'd taken about eighteen months to restore world order. and after breaking up her last militia cult (who'd had a hefty stock of military grade weapons in the basement right next to the baby formula), roxy had been tired. she can't imagine eggsy being anything short of exhausted, either, what with half their numbers being held up with delapidating (most likely permanent; stamps of retirement) injuries or else dead (a la chester king), merlin had been running them all ragged in the pursuit of peace. and lancelot and galahad especially.
they were the newest recruits; the youngest and the quickest to bounce back from minor (basically everything short of a broken neck by their handlers standards) injuries, so they got most of the grunt work. less of the missions that involved high heels and silk ties; dancing or cordial, thinly veiled conversation with dangerous people or government officials (who were sometimes the same person, in the right setting). no, they got the heavy lifting, so to speak; the missions where the odds were visibly stacked against them and there was at least one near death experience or close call an evening; the ones that called for heavy body armor and risky stunts.
...like dropping from an absolutely silent, black aircarrier in the dead of night; strapped into tight, reinforced halo suits and parachuting onto the roof of a heavily guarded private estate of a man who was rumored to be planning the assasination of a few important persons.
it was supposed to be easy. then they'd get a few weeks off, merlin had promised, and they'd made tentative plans to finally go out together to get shitfaced. then roxy was going to watch jb when eggsy and his mum and sister went on a little holiday to finistère, and she'd made a few tentative plans of her own to visit family. the job was a job, and even if it was one her mother would undoubtedly complain about (a tailor, roxanne, really?) it was important to steal what few moments they had with the ones they loved in order to keep them grounded. now she understood why her godfather had spent so many weekends in their guest room and had so readily indulged her desire to play, and likewise couldn't wait to see even the most distant of cousins. all that stood between them and their long weekend was this one last mission.
and it'd been supposed to be easy.
that's her distressed mantra when everything starts to go to shit. when the alarm system that was supposed to have been disabled suddenly blared back to life; when dogs started barking and lights flickering on before they'd even disconnected from their chute trappings and made it inside. then there'd been the guards; not many of them, but enough to make their lives hell and mission near impossible. they'd seperated, having only their ear pieces to relay important tidbits of information whilst trying not to get shot. well, fatally shot; their suits are sleeker than the average high altitude low opening attire, and completely bulletproof, as kingsman does. but that doesn't mean we'll walk away completely unscated, roxy thinks while she's pinned behind a statue and steadily running out of ammo to return fire with. not that her depleating bullet supply matters in the long run, because it turns out that their mark hadn't been intending to take out presidents and kings with anything quite so mundane as bullets or poison.
no, he'd intended to use a bomb. and he had on already; primed and fully opperational in his basement. and maybe it's a misguided attempt to kill his would-be assassins (retcon quickly became terminate him from merlin's end) or maybe it'd been a really efficient suicide, but the man trips it, and neigh ten seconds after she and eggsy figure out what's happening, their entire world explodes in a wash of red and pain.
roxy doesn't remember the time between the heat blasting her face and slowly waking up on grass. and now, lying amoung the wreckage and smouldering chunks of house littering the lawn, roxy can just barely make out another crumpled body s few yards away through the haze of heat and floating plaster dust. but she can discern enough to tell that he's wearing a halo suit as well, and that his previously immaculately combed hair was now a mess and full of soot from the settling explosion. )
Galahad? ( she rasps, something like dread curling in her stomach and trying to force its way up her throat like bile. he's so still and that scares the shit out of her. until the lump of eggsy groans and convulses in weak coughs.
then there's a relieved laugh on roxy's lips that quickly turns into a sharp, painful intake of breath and has her clutching at her side when she tries to sit up. even in flickering firelight, and even against the sleek black material of her insulated glove, she can see the sticky red of oxygenated blood.
and there's a lot of it. )
Oh, ( roxy wheezes again. then a very real panic seeps into her voice as she presses on the wound again — not that the pressure from her palm seems to be doing much for the bloodloss; now it's just oozing through her fingers instead of falling directly on the ground from the deep, roughly pound sized puncture just above her perlvis. ) Eggsy, Eggsy I can't — ( move ) — hear Merlin.
no subject
That limit has been blatantly ignored in place of him and Roxy parachuting in for what should have been a relatively simple assignment compared to what they've been doing lately. One last hurrah before they're given some well-earned time off, and Eggsy has been so excited for the chance to take his family on a proper holiday. He'd made all of the reservations well in advance, and his free time this past week has been spent anticipating the beautiful landscapes in France.
The problem being that Eggsy was fucked from the start with this. He parachutes in already injured, sporting some bruised ribs and about twenty stitches down his side from his last mission. He and Roxy are young, so they're expected to heal quickly and keep going, with no time for convalescence unless they are literally in a state where they can't walk. Which thankfully hasn't happened so far.
At one point, Eggsy had made an offhanded comment about how he far preferred the missions that involved gunfights and car chases to those that required he go undercover and pretend to be some rich tosser. He's severely regretting that now, although he doubts that his opinion actually has that much to do with how Merlin picks out missions for them.
It doesn't make much of a difference, now that the alarm has been sounded (and to think, they'd actually been on a roll with not setting them off, and that's all been ruined) and Eggsy is racing through the facility in search of their target, shooting at everything that moves. His skill with wetwork definitely comes in handy in these situations, but as more and more armed guards show up, he's reminded far too much of his raid on Valentine's bunker. Except that this time, they don't have convenient head exploding devices to fall back on.
But Roxy is here, Eggsy reminds himself. Roxy is here -- and together, the two of them can do anything, can't they? They make plans to reconvene by the front lawn, figuring that they'll have a better chance of making a stand if they're working together. And the thing is, Eggsy has just about made it there. He's only about ten yards away from Roxy when the bomb goes off, but then the world goes white. He's completely blinded by the blast, and his scrambled mind registers that he's been shoved against a wall, when the reality is that he hit the ground hard.
He actually blacks out for a few seconds there, coming to with blurry vision and pain running all through his chest and torso. Eggsy had already been battered before this, and the blast from the explosion hasn't made that any better. He's pretty sure that searing pain in his side in because his stitches just got torn open, and he's struggling to get any air in with how much his ribs ache.
When he does finally cough the dust out of his lungs and draw in breath, it hurts and he groans. At first all he sees is the fire of the explosion casting light over the wreckage, but then he remembers that Roxy must be somewhere here too, and her voice comes through, saying his name, except it's so thready and weak--
Eggsy relies on adrenaline to force himself up until he's sitting, and then he spots Roxy laid out on the grass, one of her gloved hands pressed against her side. Even from here, he can see that she's bleeding, with some of the grass near her stained red. Some sort of shrapnel from the explosion must have penetrated right through her halo suit. Eggsy may feel like utter shit, but he can still move. No, he has to, he has to get to her.
So he crawls over, head ducked in case there's anyone around them who might still try to get a shot in, and makes it to Roxy as quick as he can. Which, unfortunately, is not quick at all. His entire upper body is throbbing with pain and he can feel the blood at his side seeping over his skin and sticking to his suit.]
The explosion must've knocked out transmissions. [Merlin will be back on as soon as he can. He has to be, because they need extraction and they need it now. Eggsy doesn't have any field supplies to do first aid. They hadn't been able to carry much on them given that they'd been parachuting in, and so there's very little he can actually do to help with Roxy's bleeding. Which, as he gets closer, he can see is bad. The material of the suit has been burned away at the injury site, and Eggsy can barely make out what else is happening for all the blood.
He leans over her and presses both hands down on the wound. It's going to hurt, but it's better than her bleeding out on him.] Roxy. [He doesn't bother with codenames, but just looks right into her eyes, forcing her to focus on him. She's going to go into shock if he's not careful.] Listen. You're going to be fine, you hear me? You have to be. There's no way I'm letting --
[His voice breaks then, and he cuts off, bowing his head to look at his hands braced over the wound. He can't go through this again. He can't let this happen again. He's already lost one friend, he's not about to lose another. No fucking way, it just isn't fair, and he refuses.]
no subject
but then eggsy's at her side. he's not, then she blinks and he's there, and roxy thinks maybe she's already fading until his hands knock hers out of the way and he's suddenly pressing down on her wound with all the weight he can muster. and it hurts like hell. it's like being stabbed with a flying piece of metal all over again, and fresh pain electrifies all of her nerve endings. she arches under his hands, groans like an animal dying, but grips his wrist as hard as she can (not very hard) in order to beg him not to let go.
not to not let.
just to not let go. )
I think I'm a little fucked. ( she tries to laugh, and it hurts. once a pool of blood reaches a certain diameter, there's nothing to do. the grass is dark and wet beneath her, but roxy can't tell how much of it is blood, dew, and slick sweat inside her halo suit. all she really knows is that eggsy's voice is cracking and he's putting up a brave front, but it's cracking. yeah. fucked.
it's an occupational hazard. )
Can you — can you do me a favor? ( rox i need a favor. ) Will you tell my dad I love him? ( and tell her i love her. )
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
undah dah seaaaa~
and of course, Charlie believes it. he knows the tales, knows too well what humans are capable of (his father had been injured by one during one of the great human wars), and yet he has never been a particularly cautious creature. when told to avoid something, he charges at it, head first, all defiance and easy arrogance.
which may well be the reason he's breached the surface in the quaking moments after a storm, when the seas are still turbulent and torpid, when the air whips across his pale face, pushing even heavy wet curls out of his face, when somewhere on the shores he hears shouts of mayday and overboard and help her but he's not wholly familiar with the meaning of these words, the danger they convey in the muggy, misty afternoon.
but it's the strange, hulking sound of weight hitting water, of new ripples being created in storm waters, that draws his attention. he becomes nothing but a flash of dazzling amber ombre, the flick of a maroon flecked tail, sinking into the dark depths in search of what may have come crashing unceremoniously (and unwelcomed) into his realm. could humans breathe under water? could they swim? peculiar, how little he knows. ]
i'm assuming by the time u get up captcha will be around so fuck that
yeah fuck that❤️
You may need to bite the bullet and purchase another dog bed.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
( tfln )
no subject
(no subject)
( tfln )
no subject
(no subject)