Scribbles and Drabbles

The Last Icefire 1

Written: 2016 ish, redone 2021 - TW: Character death via cancer-like disease.

A siren blared through the night, echoing down the night alleyway below. A scent of burning food, drugs and the muck of a large city drifted around Lawrence, shifting as a gust surrounded him. He closed his eyes and let it blow over him, down his back and tightened his grip on the balcony rail. He leaned back, the metal creaking under his weight. The familiar buzz of the city offered a reassurance he hadn't felt in a while.

He was home. Only a few months since they had left the city to go travelling, but it was a lifetime ago now. So much had changed.

His heart seized. A flash of before and after locked into his mind. The warmth and love contrasting with the cold and harsh reality he was about to face. A teardrop rolled down his cheek before he could stop himself thinking about it. Snapping back up straight, he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. Thinking about everything was not going to help.

He was going to die soon and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The cure which they'd left to find simply did not exist. Now he was alone and the people who knew his secret were dead.

Didn't stop the tiny piece of desperation in his heart that something would appear. It was one of the many reasons he'd returned home after all, rather than dying in some unknown place with no one wiser to what had happened to them. People knew him here. Things had a habit of happening here that broken rules of logic and probability. Even if the city was dangerous and the rules had changed now, maybe there was a dash of miracles left.

Another powerful gust of wind blew passed, strong enough to push him back. Law caught himself before he could fall, the metal biting into his palms. The sound of wings flapping nearby revealed the cause.

Less than a day to find him. Lawrence expected less if he was honest. It wasn't like he had hidden. His civilian friends knew he was back. It would only take one of them reaching out to someone who was not to reveal his presence.

"You're home," Hawk was next to him. The metal creaked again as more weight was added to it. "It's been a minute, Law."

Lawrence opened his eyes. Hawk was perched on the balcony rail, large black wings folded behind him still wearing his signature mask. The thing concealed most of his face and made it hard to read how the man was feeling right now. Hawk wasn't violent typically but he was still one of the Mad Clown's men.

"I'm surprised you continued wearing masks," Lawrence offered, an ache building behind his eyes. He didn't want to deal with this right now.

It always had been good practice for the 'heroes' and 'villains' alike. A separation of their roles in the games and their personal lives. It wasn't like many people knew what the others looked like under the cowls, makeup and in Hawk's case feathers, that made up the masks. They kept identities hidden from the press more from each other. "I thought the whole winning and taking over the city plot was so people didn't have to anymore."

"Some don't," Hawk dropped so he was no longer perched on the rail. His long legs stretched out onto the floor of the balcony. The rather violence shriek from the metal and at the movement was a little alarming, however. "Mine has always been a little more than just to hide."

Lawrence took a step back not entirely trusting of the balcony's ability to hold both of their weight. Hawk was lighter than he looked but he wasn't weightless. Some kind of distortion in mass that allowed him to fly. Otherwise no one with wings that small would be able to. Not that they were tiny, but certainly too small if his weight was correct for his size. Lawrence would rather not risk collapsing the rusted thing on his first night in the apartment.