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Entry tags:
ficlet: untitled for now, Lemon, PG, violence
As requested. Lemon ficlet, vaguely exploring the Daybreakversepost-Revelation universe.
The first time Lemon punches Starbuck, everyone holds their collective breath, sure the CAG is going to read the tall, blonde Cylon the riot act before she throws her in the brig (not that there is a brig yet, it's just a tiny room next to the jakes trench that the marines keep swearing freezes their balls off). But instead of shouting, the CAG throws her head back and laughs, even with blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth.
"So you do have some fire after all, pilot," the CAG says, once she's stopped laughing. She smirks, though it has to hurt, and leans down to pick up the cigar Lemon knocked from her mouth.
Lemon doesn't quite get how she dodged the bullet, but she goes with it, shrugging and shaking her fingers out. "Guess I do, huh?"
"It was a good hit," the CAG replies.
-=-
The second time, Lemon's angrier than she has been in a long time and Starbuck is going on about the prowess of human pilots versus Cylon pilots, and it's a stupid comparison and her fist just flies too fast for her brain.
Starbuck comes back, this time, and even drunk she gets in a good hit.
The pilots and farmers crowd around, taking bets and cheering as the two swing. Lemon has the advantage of height and reach and a certain amount of training. Starbuck has sheer bulldoggery on her side and gets in a lucky tackle.
It's wet and muddy, the cold seeping into their bones as they roll, Starbuck ending up on top, her arm snapping back.
Lemon stares up at her, eyes wide, waiting for the punch. She could stop it, block it with a fore-arm and shift her weight, roll them again so Starbuck's on her back, slammed into the muck, the wind knocked out of her.
For some reason she doesn't.
And Starbuck doesn't let the punch fly, just stares down at her for a moment before slowly lowering her fist. Her fingers unclench and she pats Lemon's cheek a little too hard, "Next time, we make bets on each other. Deal?"
-=-
The third time, it's a mistake. Lemon was dodging a civilian while lashing out and Starbuck stepped into her line of fire. The CAG shouts something obscene at her, but the words are lost as the mob continues to spread through the bar that had been quiet until the civvies had lost their cool. Something about Cylons mixing with humans rubbed them up the wrong way. Problem was, half the bar were pilots, and they took exception to their friends being insulted.
Lemon feels the thrill of it, the snap-rush of adrenaline moving her arms and fists as she fights next to the others.
It's strange, being a part of the crowd, in this--a crowd that isn't twenty identical Cylons. A crowd made up of humans, men and women who have flown and fought alongside her.
They've all had their moments, snide comments and bitter hatreds, jealousies and other things--
But right now, they're fighting for each other, the way they'll do if Cavil and his people ever find Earth. And Lemon thinks maybe that might change the tide. Maybe she can hope for more than just dirt and insults thrown at her in the street. Maybe the dust and mud on her boots and under her fingernails is worth it.
Sirens go off, a river of the newly-minted civilian police force suddenly pouring into the melee.
A hand grabs her wrist, and Lemon turns, trades a grin with Punchline, and flees for the back door, the human pilots taking the rear.
-f-
The first time Lemon punches Starbuck, everyone holds their collective breath, sure the CAG is going to read the tall, blonde Cylon the riot act before she throws her in the brig (not that there is a brig yet, it's just a tiny room next to the jakes trench that the marines keep swearing freezes their balls off). But instead of shouting, the CAG throws her head back and laughs, even with blood trickling down from the corner of her mouth.
"So you do have some fire after all, pilot," the CAG says, once she's stopped laughing. She smirks, though it has to hurt, and leans down to pick up the cigar Lemon knocked from her mouth.
Lemon doesn't quite get how she dodged the bullet, but she goes with it, shrugging and shaking her fingers out. "Guess I do, huh?"
"It was a good hit," the CAG replies.
-=-
The second time, Lemon's angrier than she has been in a long time and Starbuck is going on about the prowess of human pilots versus Cylon pilots, and it's a stupid comparison and her fist just flies too fast for her brain.
Starbuck comes back, this time, and even drunk she gets in a good hit.
The pilots and farmers crowd around, taking bets and cheering as the two swing. Lemon has the advantage of height and reach and a certain amount of training. Starbuck has sheer bulldoggery on her side and gets in a lucky tackle.
It's wet and muddy, the cold seeping into their bones as they roll, Starbuck ending up on top, her arm snapping back.
Lemon stares up at her, eyes wide, waiting for the punch. She could stop it, block it with a fore-arm and shift her weight, roll them again so Starbuck's on her back, slammed into the muck, the wind knocked out of her.
For some reason she doesn't.
And Starbuck doesn't let the punch fly, just stares down at her for a moment before slowly lowering her fist. Her fingers unclench and she pats Lemon's cheek a little too hard, "Next time, we make bets on each other. Deal?"
-=-
The third time, it's a mistake. Lemon was dodging a civilian while lashing out and Starbuck stepped into her line of fire. The CAG shouts something obscene at her, but the words are lost as the mob continues to spread through the bar that had been quiet until the civvies had lost their cool. Something about Cylons mixing with humans rubbed them up the wrong way. Problem was, half the bar were pilots, and they took exception to their friends being insulted.
Lemon feels the thrill of it, the snap-rush of adrenaline moving her arms and fists as she fights next to the others.
It's strange, being a part of the crowd, in this--a crowd that isn't twenty identical Cylons. A crowd made up of humans, men and women who have flown and fought alongside her.
They've all had their moments, snide comments and bitter hatreds, jealousies and other things--
But right now, they're fighting for each other, the way they'll do if Cavil and his people ever find Earth. And Lemon thinks maybe that might change the tide. Maybe she can hope for more than just dirt and insults thrown at her in the street. Maybe the dust and mud on her boots and under her fingernails is worth it.
Sirens go off, a river of the newly-minted civilian police force suddenly pouring into the melee.
A hand grabs her wrist, and Lemon turns, trades a grin with Punchline, and flees for the back door, the human pilots taking the rear.
-f-