When The Bough Breaks || PLOT LOG

Posted on Fri May 9th, 2014 @ 10:43pm by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova

670 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: In the Dark

The cold of the winter world bit deeply into Ivanova's bare feet - the cruel sting slowly bringing the woman back to her senses as she tucked deeper into her hood. The snow was falling in soft, big flakes -- dancing as it slowly departed the heaven's in search of it's long lost comrades coating the ground beneath her footfalls. In the dark, it was magnificence. A dream-like place of crystal and glass... Of fallen angels hidden beneath snowfields. It stole her breath -- the cold and beauty combined -- as she crossed the well trodden path through the camp. The breeze tore her thoughts away from him, from the near misstep she'd taken laying prone against the warmth of her Captain's bed, as it cut through the thin fabric of her pants.

She should have been alert, not lost in her brain -- not contemplating the should haves and mulling over the could haves. She should have been in the present, not wandering along the dangerous mental path into the past. Her hands clenched tightly over the cold wet socks they held, gripping to them as if they alone could bring her further from her own mind. From Taggart... Griffin... And finally? From the Trill called Neyes and a Cardassian named Dahe`el.

Alas, the Trill, for now, held her captivated in her exhausted state, bewitched and searching the falling snow as if for a sign or an answer to remedy her own stupidity. But the cold and darkness were home to more than just stray thought and confusion. While the bright day vacated whatever little warmth it held on favor of chilled pitch black night, silent eyes came out of hiding, covered in layers and layers of dark fur and fabric.

And these eyes, bright with malevolence and hunger, were focused completely on their prey. No stray thought took their attention away, not for a moment, as they moved, as silent as the falling snow around them, coordinating their attack like the pack of hunters they were.

The leader paused, and the pack obeyed, stopping in their tracks with muscles taut and ready. Several seconds passed and the air almost stood still with their anticipation.

And then, as if on some paranormal sign only they were aware of, the crazed, dark, furry pack pounced their prey. Two grabbed the woman on both sides, their grasp as tight as pincers, one twisting her right hand behind her, the other holding his own gloved hand over her mouth. Two more fur covered members popped up as if out of thin air to grab her legs, lifting her easily like a human hammock, and the four scurried off between the icy rocks.

The fifth man, the leader, swung his heavy furry cape across the snow, erasing whatever signs of struggle, and followed along, letting the soft leaves at the end of his long cape drag behind him, erasing whatever tracks are left.

It was quick, silent, efficient and effective, and within less than half a minute there was no trace of anyone on the dark icy passage.


Rochelle hadn't the time to respond, to fight, to even scream. She startled at the sudden attack, barely able to shy back in surprise. Her hands flexed, the balled up wet socks immediately plummeted to the disturbed snow below. With the gloved hands coming to rest and grip her body, the little redhead bucked and kicked to no avail. They were too tight, too firmly held, too large and too many for her resistance to be anything more than futile. The more she struggled, the more her arm burned and threatened it's breaking point. The more she struggled, the tighter their grip became. Her yells and screams were nothing more then muffled puffs of air from behind those massive hands, no louder than the galloping beat of her wildly racing heart.


And then? Darkness. Cold... Mind numbing... Darkness.



- to be continued -


Commander Rochelle Ivanova
Executive Officer
USS VINDICATOR

Evil Nasties
APB Mooeypoo

 

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