Chatterbox: Inkwell

(('Ello people, I'm just randomly writing a story becuase I can't find anything better to do pfff. It focuses on some of my random characters that I've RPed with some. But um. Yep. Enjoy reading whatever my crazed brain comes up with.))

The rain beat down on the frozen ground angrily, the thunder in the sky only a murmur against the pounding roar of the gallons of water pouring from the twisting gray-black sky. A boy, looking about 15 or so, tore through the street, blond hair whipping from his soaked head, eyes wild. Never will you see eyes like the ones fixed to his head, the bright, unnatural green enveloping all whiteness burning with emotion and pain and passion. He was strange-looking, all right; coarsing down his tan cheeks and cheekbones were rough, sand-colored scales, like the ones you would find on a rattlesnake. His eyes were particularly snake-like as well, as explained previously. He seemed to have two pairs of eyelids; human ones, with blond eyelashes casting shadows on his scale-adorned face, and clear, bluish lids that opened and shut rapidly. The boy let out a sharp hiss, slipping and staggering when he reached a dead end at a dark alleyway ahead of him. He leaned on the wall, chest heaving, his left hand clenched firmly around an odd-looking gun. He looked up dizzily, and grinned haggardly at the people approaching him, dropping it in his heavy fatigue. Large, hefty men in black suits, armed with pistols, approached the boy warily."You're done for, Cobra." A man spat quietly, stepping quietly over to face him. The boy, presumably called Cobra, grinned wider. "No...No," he muttered, smirking. "Ahh, what a pity, such a pity, Laurence. You could've listened to me. I would've warned you. But it's too late now, mate. Far too late. They hear us, you know. They're right here, standing with us, and you don't even realize it. And you know what?" he said, cocking his head mockingly, furrowing his rain-streaked brow. "They absolutely HATE you." At those words, there was an echoing sound that made all noises around them vanish; even white noise was wiped out by the wave of pure sound.

It was voices.

Eerie, beautiful voices, like the sound of a million orchestras sounding off at once. All the men froze where they stood, like perfect statues. Their mouths hung wide open, eyes glazed with confusion. They were completely immobile, not a breath escaped from their still lungs, their hearts did not beat. They all just STOPPED. 

Cobra's body was not immobile like the rest. He raised his pale hands from his ears and closed his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. He slid to the ground, his heart pounding through his ribs. Just before he passed out, a frighteningly thin, skeletal form of a small girl, looking to be about 13, walked up to him, looking down with black eyes. Her dress was heavy with water, sticking to her pale legs. She blinked, her bright-white hair falling into her face when she looked down. "Zir? You come wit' usss, yesst?" she said, in a thick, lilting accent. Her voice was surprisingly raw, like sandpaper. It didn't sound like the voice of a 13-year old girl. Cobra smiled lazily, hardly conscious. "Eh...Whatever," Cobra said in a hoarse whisper before his body slumped down to the ground.

 Fire flicked at his skin, smoke clogging the air. The tiny little boy ran across the ember-coated ground, tripping and skidding painfully across hot ashes. He lifted himself up and dashed off again, halting by the wall of flame that stopped him from going further. His brilliant green snake-eyes searched desperately around him, bony fingers twisting the stained linen fabric of his shirt. But all that he could see was the fire, slurping and slithering greedily at the ground around him. He dropped to his bloody knees, curling his arms across his legs for some thin comfort, sobbing and shaking. It was no use looking.

He was alone. 

Cobra snapped back awake, gasping. The light shining directly onto his eyes temporarily blinded him and he groaned softly in protest. "Oh, come on. It's got to be, like, four-thirty in the morning back in earth time. Do you guys really feel the need to wake up at four-thirty? I mean, gosh. I have severe teleportation lag. Worse then any case of jet lag. Ever. Turn down the freaking lights," he said blearily, covering his eyes with his arm. "I mussdt protezt, zir. It iz alreatdzy noontime," the same sandpapery voice from before said. He turned his head and met the pitch-black eyes of the girl he had met earlier. He stared blankly. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess so. Zsyrens don't really know how to sleep, hn?" He hoisted himself up slightly, wiping a hand across his eyes. "So, uh, where's Vanessa?" he said, perking up a bit. The girl, or, the Zsyren, cocked her head. "Vanhekssah?" she said slowly, struggling to master the syllables correctly through her heavy accent. Cobra grinned. "She's--it's my gun. You know, gun, bang bang." He made his hand into a gun shape, pretending to shoot her. She blinked, dumbfounded. He rolled his eyes."It's a metal thing that you shoot tiny little metal balls out of. A weapon. I was with it when you found me yesterday." The Zxyren seemed to barely understand what he was talking about finally after a few fumbling explanations. "Ahhch. Tke hhard-cold obcheckt, yiss?" she said, nodding her head. She turned around, looking back to him and pointing through the door frame. "I whill rketurn," she said breifly before walking briskly out. Cobra smirked, and wondered if they were totally annoyed with him yet. He sighed, sinking down a bit on the cot they had settled him on, staring at the wall dully.

(I'll write more soon. Just the first chapter and half of the second for now though. Thanks for reading~)