From dailyprompt: “Stunt Double.”
and
Three Word Wednesday,
foolish, mercy, relish.
Fae Apoc.
“Do you think we were unwise?” Jackie twisted to look at the unconscious man-boy in the back seat; shirtless, rain-drenched, unconscious, he looked even younger than he had cowering in the corner.
“That sort of mercy is always foolish,” Anne answered, but, seeing the expression on her sibling’s face, relented a little. “But I’m sure we can work something out for him. He’s kind of a nice little rabbit, isn’t he?”
“Mm, more of a ferret?” Jackie mused. “Or a mink.”
“He does have sharp teeth.” Anne rubbed her arm ruefully. “But I thought we weren’t going to skin him.”
“Otter, then.”
“Good, I’ll throw him in the water. So, basically, you think he’s a weasel. And yet you saved his life.”
“Well, he’s a cute weasel. Not quite a weasel. Marten. Like that pine marten we saw last week. And it wasn’t his fault, really.” She glanced back at their captive again. “Okay, the biting was his fault, and he really seemed to relish it when he kicked me in the shins, but I guess I can’t really blame him.”
“I can,” Anne muttered. She glanced in the rearview at the boy, and then further back. “Is that a tail?”
“No, they just pulled on at the last exit. Just an asshole.”
“Throw a blanket over the kid anyway, would you? I don’t want someone calling the cops.”
“I’m sure the cops are already looking for us.” She tucked the blanket around the unconscious boy anyway, trying to ignore the double twinge of maternal-like concern and assassin-like homicide. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that the target had had a stunt double. It probably wasn’t even his fault that he’d attacked them; he had a bit of a brainwashed look to him, conscious. But he did look exactly like the man they’d left dead in Detroit, down to the mole on his cheek and the way the dyed-red curl in the front hung enticingly over his forehead. Someone had to have shifted him at some point; even twins didn’t look that similar.
“We almost killed the wrong guy,” she muttered.
“We almost killed an extra guy,” her sister corrected. “Do you really think we would have failed to notice when he fell over with lead bullets and didn’t get back up?”
“If he did,” she countered. “Are you sure he’s human?”
“What makes you think he’s not?”
“The way he went catatonic when we killed his Keeper.”
“Keep… oh.” It was rare she got to see Anne taken aback; she relished it a little bit even while making sure the guy behind her was, indeed, just an asshole. “You think he’s an Owned halfbreed?”
“He certainly was acting like it. I mean, enough mind control could do it, too, so I guess we’ll have to wait until he wakes up.”
“Speaking of which, he’s not likely to do so before we get to a safe house, is he?”
“Nah.” She tapped the boy’s forehead lightly. “He’s out. Human or fae, he won’t be waking up until I want him to.”
This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/38194.html. You can comment here or there.