Post by Ran-dezvous on Jan 26, 2018 20:21:50 GMT
Title: Rotten Apple on the Ground
Author: Ran-dezvous
Fandom: Detective Conan
Character: Vermouth
Word Count: 616
Prompt: When a limb falls asleep at the most inconvenient time.
Rating: K+/PG (for Vermouth's mouth)
Genre: General
Original Publish Date: January 27, 2018 (because time zones)
Disclaimer: Aoyama Gosho owns the rights to Detective Conan, but he's cool with fans writing fanfiction, yay!
Notes: Takes place during the Halloween Party case. And to my prompter, my sincerest apologies if you were looking for something humorous. The fic could be a lot better (and, maybe, longer), but I've been dealing with some health issues recently, sorry about that!
Summary: Vermouth's escape from the clutches of her beloved Silver Bullet wasn't as simple as she thought it would be.
She may possess age-defying youth and vitality, but she was still a mortal, a human susceptible to the laws of biology, although biology was more lenient to her than most other humans.
She's still capable of bleeding copious amounts of blood and feeling the pain associated with it, for instance, and that blood and pain wasn't any less than that of any other human. Or that's what she would've liked to believe, at least, as one could never completely experience another's pain, whether physical or emotional. Pain would always be an immensely personal, internal thing.
Vermouth bit her lip, clutching her wounded stomach. The pain may be excruciating, but she knew she would live through it. She didn't want her eternal youth anymore, but she didn't want to die, either. Not yet, not until her agenda is achieved.
Sorry about this, my dear Silver Bullet, she mused whilst looking at the shrunken detective knocked out by the sleeping gas she had unleashed just moments ago. With her free hand, she opened the door and tried to stand up, only to realize she couldn't feel her legs. "Damn!" She hissed through gritted teeth. She may have managed to stay awake from the sleeping gas, but it didn't stop her legs from drifting off into slumber. The irony of it all, and she wasn't even sitting for that long, either!
Whatever, she wasn't going to let a little numbness in her legs stop her. She was going to get of here, even if it meant she had to crawl on the ground. Were she in a more-normal situation, she would've just waited to regain the feeling in her legs, but she couldn't afford to be knocked out by the sleeping gas, not to mention her stomach was still bleeding. It was far from her ideal scenario, but, as an actress, she knew that, sometimes, one had to improvise. Besides, being captured by her beloved Silver Bullet was far worse.
She pushed herself off the Beetle, letting the grassy soil cushion her fall. Her legs, finally dislodged from their former positions, stopped being completely devoid of feeling, and was, instead, substituted by the mildly painful sensation of cramps. This, on its own, wouldn't be so bad, if her stomach wasn't bleeding.
She pressed her palms against the ground, using them to support her wobbly legs as she tried to stand up. She succeeded, but only for a few seconds: her legs soon gave way, and crashed once more to the ground. "Shit!" She cussed under her breath. This was not her night at all. As if it was already bad enough that Sherry got away and, irony of ironies, it was her beloved Angel that saved her.
The only other thing that was close enough to support Vermouth was the Beetle right next to her. (The trees weren't quite close enough.) She pressed her palms against the ground once more, not to stand up, but to sit upright. She was successful this time, fortunately. Now, she had to grasp unto something high enough to support her: the side-view mirror. She grabbed it with one arm, pulled herself up and, with her hand still on the mirror, she leaned against the back of the Beetle. All she had to do now was to wait for the cramps to subside; it shouldn't take much longer, as their intensity had already abated into that of minor inconvenience. Soon, she should be able to walk on her own, get out of this godforsaken woods and, finally, get her stomach wound treated.
Fine, my dear Silver Bullet, she thought with a wry smile, maybe I can keep you company just a little while longer.
Author: Ran-dezvous
Fandom: Detective Conan
Character: Vermouth
Word Count: 616
Prompt: When a limb falls asleep at the most inconvenient time.
Rating: K+/PG (for Vermouth's mouth)
Genre: General
Original Publish Date: January 27, 2018 (because time zones)
Disclaimer: Aoyama Gosho owns the rights to Detective Conan, but he's cool with fans writing fanfiction, yay!
Notes: Takes place during the Halloween Party case. And to my prompter, my sincerest apologies if you were looking for something humorous. The fic could be a lot better (and, maybe, longer), but I've been dealing with some health issues recently, sorry about that!
Summary: Vermouth's escape from the clutches of her beloved Silver Bullet wasn't as simple as she thought it would be.
She may possess age-defying youth and vitality, but she was still a mortal, a human susceptible to the laws of biology, although biology was more lenient to her than most other humans.
She's still capable of bleeding copious amounts of blood and feeling the pain associated with it, for instance, and that blood and pain wasn't any less than that of any other human. Or that's what she would've liked to believe, at least, as one could never completely experience another's pain, whether physical or emotional. Pain would always be an immensely personal, internal thing.
Vermouth bit her lip, clutching her wounded stomach. The pain may be excruciating, but she knew she would live through it. She didn't want her eternal youth anymore, but she didn't want to die, either. Not yet, not until her agenda is achieved.
Sorry about this, my dear Silver Bullet, she mused whilst looking at the shrunken detective knocked out by the sleeping gas she had unleashed just moments ago. With her free hand, she opened the door and tried to stand up, only to realize she couldn't feel her legs. "Damn!" She hissed through gritted teeth. She may have managed to stay awake from the sleeping gas, but it didn't stop her legs from drifting off into slumber. The irony of it all, and she wasn't even sitting for that long, either!
Whatever, she wasn't going to let a little numbness in her legs stop her. She was going to get of here, even if it meant she had to crawl on the ground. Were she in a more-normal situation, she would've just waited to regain the feeling in her legs, but she couldn't afford to be knocked out by the sleeping gas, not to mention her stomach was still bleeding. It was far from her ideal scenario, but, as an actress, she knew that, sometimes, one had to improvise. Besides, being captured by her beloved Silver Bullet was far worse.
She pushed herself off the Beetle, letting the grassy soil cushion her fall. Her legs, finally dislodged from their former positions, stopped being completely devoid of feeling, and was, instead, substituted by the mildly painful sensation of cramps. This, on its own, wouldn't be so bad, if her stomach wasn't bleeding.
She pressed her palms against the ground, using them to support her wobbly legs as she tried to stand up. She succeeded, but only for a few seconds: her legs soon gave way, and crashed once more to the ground. "Shit!" She cussed under her breath. This was not her night at all. As if it was already bad enough that Sherry got away and, irony of ironies, it was her beloved Angel that saved her.
The only other thing that was close enough to support Vermouth was the Beetle right next to her. (The trees weren't quite close enough.) She pressed her palms against the ground once more, not to stand up, but to sit upright. She was successful this time, fortunately. Now, she had to grasp unto something high enough to support her: the side-view mirror. She grabbed it with one arm, pulled herself up and, with her hand still on the mirror, she leaned against the back of the Beetle. All she had to do now was to wait for the cramps to subside; it shouldn't take much longer, as their intensity had already abated into that of minor inconvenience. Soon, she should be able to walk on her own, get out of this godforsaken woods and, finally, get her stomach wound treated.
Fine, my dear Silver Bullet, she thought with a wry smile, maybe I can keep you company just a little while longer.