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May. 11th, 2009 07:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un_fallenFRIDAY.
It's very late, and the darkness is made complete by thick, black smoke that billows around Raguel like a living creature. Though he's wearing a small plastic mask in case anyone spots him, it would be ineffective in smoke this dense. He already looks like something less than human, covered in soot and waving his arms around like a madman. Of course, when Raguel waves his arms around, the smoke and the fire generally follow where he directs them.
If they can get just this part of the blaze under control, he'll feel that he can go. It's the last of the major fires that threaten houses and man-made structures in this region. The other firemen will rest. If they can just get this part locked down.
But here there's a howling, rushing noise that he recognizes from unpleasant experience; the wind is picking up again and carrying embers with it. Burning pieces fly through the air by the hundreds and he can't stop them all. It seems that he's going to need to get closer to the fire itself to push it back.
He can see a faint glow ahead, and moves toward it through the roaring and the smoke.
Someone takes a swipe at his head with a sword.
He ducks, cursing, thanking Somebody that his wings weren't out or they'd have been sheared off at the join. He glances to his right, where the flash of metal had appeared, and sees grayish feathers.
Something isn't right.
He slows, feeling the weight of the wings.
The howling is louder now, though the wind can't possibly have picked up this much; it's stronger than any whirlwind, and the fire wouldn't generate drafts this strong so far away. There are flashes up ahead - not flashes of fire but of bright lights, wavering and insubstantial and familiar and not quite on this plane of reality and suddenly - no - it's too large, he doesn't want to go any further. He steps backward, yelling something; he has no idea what, and someone catches him and holds him fast. He keeps yelling, but he can't move, and the figure holding him looks like - like -
Crowley
Benjamin Lott, a firefighter he recognizes from the truck. There's something wrong with his face.
"Fred!" Benjamin is yelling through the thick mask he's wearing - much more substantial than Raguel's. Raguel stares at him. Benjamin drags him back toward clearer air, and Raguel remembers that he introduced himself as Fred, that it's sewn onto his jacket. Fred. He glances back into the smoke, but there are no more flashes, glances back at
Ben
and thinks he has an idea what he imagined he saw on that unmasked face.
He thinks it might have been a scar.
It's very late, and the darkness is made complete by thick, black smoke that billows around Raguel like a living creature. Though he's wearing a small plastic mask in case anyone spots him, it would be ineffective in smoke this dense. He already looks like something less than human, covered in soot and waving his arms around like a madman. Of course, when Raguel waves his arms around, the smoke and the fire generally follow where he directs them.
If they can get just this part of the blaze under control, he'll feel that he can go. It's the last of the major fires that threaten houses and man-made structures in this region. The other firemen will rest. If they can just get this part locked down.
But here there's a howling, rushing noise that he recognizes from unpleasant experience; the wind is picking up again and carrying embers with it. Burning pieces fly through the air by the hundreds and he can't stop them all. It seems that he's going to need to get closer to the fire itself to push it back.
He can see a faint glow ahead, and moves toward it through the roaring and the smoke.
Someone takes a swipe at his head with a sword.
He ducks, cursing, thanking Somebody that his wings weren't out or they'd have been sheared off at the join. He glances to his right, where the flash of metal had appeared, and sees grayish feathers.
Something isn't right.
He slows, feeling the weight of the wings.
The howling is louder now, though the wind can't possibly have picked up this much; it's stronger than any whirlwind, and the fire wouldn't generate drafts this strong so far away. There are flashes up ahead - not flashes of fire but of bright lights, wavering and insubstantial and familiar and not quite on this plane of reality and suddenly - no - it's too large, he doesn't want to go any further. He steps backward, yelling something; he has no idea what, and someone catches him and holds him fast. He keeps yelling, but he can't move, and the figure holding him looks like - like -
Benjamin Lott, a firefighter he recognizes from the truck. There's something wrong with his face.
"Fred!" Benjamin is yelling through the thick mask he's wearing - much more substantial than Raguel's. Raguel stares at him. Benjamin drags him back toward clearer air, and Raguel remembers that he introduced himself as Fred, that it's sewn onto his jacket. Fred. He glances back into the smoke, but there are no more flashes, glances back at
Ben
and thinks he has an idea what he imagined he saw on that unmasked face.
He thinks it might have been a scar.
