Line of Sight (Survivor00 & ohstefyelectric)

[Survivor00]

"Line of Sight"

â??Italicsâ? ~ Translation, since I canâ??t speak Slavic.

Varyag, Western Estova,
November 1994, 3:22 PM

The air was thick with smoke and dust, the broken and gutted shells of Varyagâ??s former apartment blocks and department stores clawing at a clouded and ashen sky. Muffled gunfire popped within the ruined cityâ??s depths, like the sound of embers in a dying fire. Every now and then, a louder explosion would shatter the air, bleeding smoke and rubble into the sky. It hadnâ??t always been like this, though. Once, Varyag had been the Capital of Estova, but almost three years of war had reduced most of it to rubble. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the country had fallen into chaos. The once busy streets now lay abandoned, broken with craters and littered with debris. Fighting was done room by room, building by building, day and night. The only ones that remained behind were soldiers, fighting for control of a ghost town.

<><><>

Aleksei TahiroviÄ? sighed heavily, patrolling the war-torn streets. Shell casings crunched under his boots as he walked, his breath coming out in white puffs against the cold air. He grunted, setting the Avtomat Kalashnikova Model 47 that he carried down on the dented and bullet-riddled hood of a burnt out car. The Russian-made assault rifle weighed almost 10 lbs unloaded, and carrying the thing around got extremely uncomfortable after a while. They had cleared this particular area out only a few hours ago â?? the acrid stench of gunpowder and death still hung in the air â?? and now they were just trying to keep it in their hands. The nearby rattle of gunfire showed that the rebels were already trying to take it back.

He reached down and fumbled through his uniformâ??s pockets, digging out a half-crumpled cigarette and bringing it to his lips. Lighting it with his last match, he let the bitter, nicotine-filled smoke sooth his frayed nerves. At least he could enjoy this one moment. He tapped the ashes away, watching them fall to the street. He brought his eyes up to scan the broken skyline of the city. It was a damn shame. His family had lived here before the war started long before, he had grown up on these streets, and now it was all gone. His family had fled, the streets were empty, and all that was left was war.

â??Fucking rebelsâ?¦â? He muttered, taking a final drag before flicking the cigarette away. He took a step forward, grabbing his assault rifle and making sure that the safety was off. Resuming his patrol, he walked along the remains of makeshift barricades, some still stained with wet blood. The bodies of the dead rebels had been dragged to the side and were thrown in a pile on the sidewalk. Even in to coldness of the autumn air, flies buzzed around the bodies, which were already starting to put out an awful stench. He hocked up a wad of phlegm and spat on the pile of corpses. It served them right.

It would be the last thing he ever did.

Even as he turned, the 7.92 x 57mm round punched through the side of his head in an instant, the ballooning pressure inside his skull destroying his brain before it nearly blew off the opposite side of his head and jaw in a spray of blood, gray matter, and splintered bone fragments. He was dead before he even realized it, his body dropping lifelessly to the street just as the report of the sniperâ??s rifle reached his location.

<><><>

â??Good shot, Senka!â? Bojan commented excitedly, looking through his own scope at her sixth kill today. Senka Deshinov exhaled slowly, looking over to mark another tally in the notebook beside her. Over seventy pencil marks were scratched into the paper, each mark a life she had taken from afar. She safetied the Zastava M76 sniper rifle, before sitting back and rubbing her eyes. Only 19, she had been pulled into the war when her parents had been cut down trying to flee the region. The rebels had taken her in, trained her, and when she was 17, she had killed her first man. After a year, the action of killing was as familiar to her as breathing.

â??Of course it was a good shot, Bojanâ?¦â? She spoke calmly to the rookie sniper, brushing away the compliment. â??If it was a bad one, heâ??d still be alive.â? She adjusted the thin hoodie she wore, brushing some of the dust and masonry fragments away from it. Like many of the civilian fighters, she did not have proper military equipment. Most of it was stolen from corpses, or were just forgone for mobility. She lay back down on her stomach, peering through her scope again. The soldier she had just shot was being dragged off the street. â??Should have left the fucker there to rotâ?¦â? She flipped the safety, sighted the target, and pulled the trigger.

The rifle bucked against her shoulder, but the man had retreated to cover in time, the round driving into the street with a puff of dust. Shaking her head, she turned to Bojan and thumped his arm lightly. â??We should move, theyâ??ll figure out where weâ??re shooting from soon.â? She quickly safetied her weapon, gathering her tally book and binoculars.

Bojan fired, once, twice, three times, the semi-automatic sniper rifle putting out a round each time he pulled the trigger. The casings clinked softly as they hit the floor, one rolling towards her until she stopped it with her boot.

â??There had better have been three targets, Bojan.â? She spoke coolly. Bojan nervously withdrew his rifle, flicking the safety and setting it at his feet. He looked up at her from his spot on the floor. â??Well?â?

â??There was only one, Senkaâ?¦â? He said.

â??Idiot. Ammunition is precious; we canâ??t afford to waste it.â? She spat, slinging the rifle over her shoulder.

â??I am sorry, Senka, I will be more patient next time.â? He apologized as she walked away, collecting his gear as well.

Senka headed into the hallway without him. The war had reached every part of this city. Bullet holes raked the cracked and faded plaster, faint bloodstains still visible even after three years. Each apartment she passed was a snapshot of how life had been when it had abruptly stopped. One room had a small table set up in the middle of the floor, where a ragged teddy bear sat abandoned at a tea party that had never finished. Senka walked quietly up to the table, lifting the teddy bear as if though it would crumble to dust in her hands.

She swallowed the lump that she felt rising in her throat, placing the teddy bear in one of her pockets. Quickly, she returned to the hallway just as Bojan exited the apartment. He looked at her, â??Are you okay, Senka?â?

â??Yes. Iâ??m fine.â? She spoke quickly, heading towards the stairwell. The doorway had been torn from its hinges and removed, making access easier. Senka moved quickly, although she still had to watch her footing. She kept going down until damage to the first floor made the stairwell impassable. Walking out onto the second floor, she moved straight across into the apartment adjacent to the stairwell, and out the window onto the fire escape outside. The sounds of fighting were much closer than what they had been earlier. A throaty grumble and the sound of clattering treads meant that they had brought a tank.

She hated tanks.

Leaping over the railing, she landed with a dull thud on her feet, keeping pressed against the wall. Bojan joined her a few moments later. â??Keep quiet, they have armor nearby.â? She warned him. Logically, they moved in the opposite direction of the armor, keeping their eyes and ears peeled in case of any other enemies in the region. They were seven blocks from their shelter, if they hurried and kept low, they might both make it there within a few minutes.

A loud blast shattered the air, and Senka felt the shockwave rumble through her feet. A gray cloud of smoke and shattered masonry blossomed from a building a block away, hurtling into the sky. Damn that tankâ?¦ Hopefully they could get a rocket team to take it out, and soon. They didnâ??t have much that could stop it otherwise.

The two snipers darted across the war-torn streets, pot-shots being taken at them as they scrambled around piles of debris. Bodies littered the scene, some dragged away, others lay along with the people that had tried to save them. A machine gun rattled from an apartment two blocks down, forcing those who were shooting at them to take cover. Another tank shell slammed into the wall, showering the street below in hot debris, and vaporizing the machine gun. Senka pitied those that had been there. Puffs of dirt and chips of asphalt danced up a few feet from her as she scurried behind cover between two buildings. Bojan was close behind, winded, but unhit. She quickly looked back out onto the street, hearing the sharp crack of a bullet as it hit the brick wall right behind her. She turned back to Bojan, looking at the other side of the alley. "Let's keep moving."

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• This world was disgusting, or at least this end of the world seemed to be. People were being silly in their naivety but it's safe to say that they were just as naive. The distance between Pescara and Split had seemed so short all those days back, so had the short journey across the land. She had come with a set of friends, and of course other people, whom were all a part of the Orchestra dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia, which resided in the buzzing city of Rome. They were there to ease the tensions of a place slowly going to hell, this female having been one of the youngest in the orchestra, she hadn't even reached nineteen when the symphony hall had a bomb collide with it. Of all the things she had never planned to do in her life, this was one of them. To say the least, she never planned on having the walls crumble around her and the ceiling cave in just like she never planned to see the people whom had helped her become flattened under the stone walls. To say the least, she never asked to be caught in the middle of this, but apparently some people liked the way bombs sounded when they went off. Apparently some people enjoyed the sound of people screaming, or the sound of death freshly squeezed into the air that was once filled with something beautiful.
  
  She would have done a solo that night.
  
  If it hadn't been for that tank fire, she would have done a solo that she had so long practiced for, and yet, it had literally crumbled around her. However, being absolutely bitter about it showed no signs of causing anything to stop, staring down at her hands that were dirty and no longer the soul keepers for the voice that the sleek gray monster provided, her eyes looking up and over to this very monster. Such a monster managed to come out saved, and such a monster had managed to find itself near its case after the blast, it had given her some sign of hope, although it had taken her one day, fourteen hours, and thirty three minutes, to first announce that she wasn't keeping time, but to second see that there were only two people from her orchestra alive. The rest were crushed among the rubble, the audience gone and now several piles of crumbling stones that had once been in the beautifully designed ceiling. The female with the big red cello case and a new found silence had stayed in the clouded building, until she heard the sound of voices.
  
  Sadly, she had expected to die and be left among the waste. Instead, her mind went blank and her ears went deaf, for she had blacked out with the visions of the bodies growing nearer. She hadn't blacked out in fear, as she had expected, but more so in pain, now noticing the large white bandages wrapping from her wrist up to her elbow, another set wrapping around her upper chest, she noticed that she still had her dress on. Hand immediately clasping over her mouth to let out a silent sob, the female had been told as a young girl by her grandmother that there was always a first and last time to cry for something, and this, now, while she was evidently in the safety of men who didn't seem to be the cause of that bomb, was the first of those two times. It wasn't the sudden urge to feel the pain that her body held, no it wasn't that at which caused her to immediately back into the wall next to her cello and continue to hold her hand over her mouth, eyes covered in clouds and raining. You may as well look for the weather in her eyes.
  
  It wasn't because she hadn't gotten to perform her solo, no, that wasn't it.
  
  All those left dead, under massive amounts of rubble that you were only hours before looking up at because there was so much beauty in it, she was crying because they had sent them here to liven spirits of those who seemed to had lost all hope. It had wound up killing nearly all of them. Finally gasping for air, her chest rose and fell in an odd manner, because well she hadn't been breathing, which caused such an act to become irregular for the time being, the female with hair dark enough in its chocolate state to be black found herself blinking numerous times, looking down at her feet with her still cloudy vision. They had given her boots to replaced her bare feet, which at one point in time for all of you who are suspect, were bare during the performance. The female sat in an odd stance and in being the solo cello of the orchestra, she was noticed more than others, though this was not why she wore no shoes or socks when performing on stage. Sitting with her legs open to provide space for the cello, her feet were arched onto the balls of her feet and often her toes, a stance learned and practiced from past years of ballet, she wanted to feel the vibrations of her monster even through the floor.
  
  Sounded like a perfectly good reason not to wear shoes to me. Though staring at the combat boots that stopped at her shins, she didn't question it, knowing the chances of stepping on something that would slice your foot off here was more likely than it was back home. Besides, she probably wouldn't get the opportunity to play again, hand back to clasping over her mouth again because her one time wasn't finished. The female blinked feverishly again, her hands sliding into the lap of her black dress, she was only half surprised that her dress was only a slight bit dirty, covered in dust, while the white one layer of taffeta poking out beneath it seemed to be spotless. Dress may as well have been perfect, but she wasn't going to perform tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Or even the day after that. Having only been awake for maybe an hour or so, her eyes at which were one of few that went through complete heterochromia, one brown eye and one light hazel eye followed the men around the room, the water of her tears having left stains down her cheeks, the Italian was in no means a part of this war.
  
  However, with the ground rumbling from a tank shooting somewhere off, it caused her to shiver none the less, because no matter how much she wasn't in it, she had no way out. Taking her hands and wrapping them around the bright red cello case, her hands grazed over the smooth exterior, almost frightened to see the inside though if this had come out well enough and they had been smart enough to take it with them, being as she had fallen unconscious right beside it, they had done what they could, correct? Correct. Gently unclasping the metal clasps, the female found herself staring down at her monster, inwardly smiling because its face didn't change, even in the heat of a performance or the heat of being bombed, its face didn't change. Immediately using a piece of the cardboard mat she had been sitting on to try her hardest in rubbing the dirt off her fingers, her hands hovered over the strings, one hand over the neck while the other hovered over the body, fingers counting out things in mid air, each one tapping to her thumb. Counting, adding, subtracting, each took only a few seconds before her hands descended on the instrument, the sound of her beautiful beast coming to life, even without her arco.
  
  This was not her solo.
  
  Amadora Bambalina Moretti would just have to deal with that.
  
  
  ohohsee;; so. she is loosely based off of Vedran SmailoviÄ?.[/list:u]

 

[Survivor00]

Senka darted from street to street, her boots pounding a fevered rhythm against the broken pavement. Her breath streamed from her lungs, her rifle smacking against her side with each step. The distant thump of tank fire reverberated within her chest. Rushing from an alley, gunfire erupted around her â?? theirs or the enemyâ??s, she wasnâ??t able to tell. Chips of shattered asphalt and dust exploded around her feet, pelting her legs. A sharp stinging creased her back and she yelped, stumbling, almost falling, but she plowed on past the burnt wreck of an overturned van, the vehicle offering her at least partial shelter.

â??Fuck!â? She shouted, reaching behind her to press her hand against her back. There was no hole â?? the bullet had only skimmed her â?? but her hand still came back red. She hissed, wiping her hand on her pant leg, smearing the fabric with her blood. Bojan crashed down beside her, panting from the exertion.

â??Senka! Youâ??re hit!â? He said with wide eyes. Miraculously, he had charged through the hailstorm of bullets unscathed.

â??No shit!â? She screamed back at him, â??Now keep your head down!â? Bullets sparked off the metal of the bus, cracking loudly into the air. An RPG round streaked overhead, plunging into the wall of a building down the street where it detonated with a shower of brick and dust. There was the squeal of protesting tires, and a dusty green pickup truck veered around the corner, the machine gun in the back burping loudly. Bullet holes laced the windshield in seconds, blood splashing the inside of the cab. It turned sharply, flipping onto its side and tossing the man â?? or it could have been a woman â?? mounting the machine gun into the street.

â??Weâ??ve got to keep moving!â? Senka shouted to Bojan, looking for an escape from the growing battle. She couldnâ??t be afraid, she couldnâ??t freeze up â?? not here, that would get both her and Bojan killed. They were only a few blocks away from the former school that now served as their current â??baseâ??. If they could get out of this battle, they should have a clear path to safety.

She slowly began to creep over towards the building that the van had ground itself against, trying to stay as low as possible to avoid the crossfire. â??Come on.â? She said, crawling towards the doorframe. The building was nearly gutted by fire, the paint seared off the inside, just gray soot and ash. She doubted its structural integrity, but it would serve to get them away from the battle.

Bullets continued to crack and ricochet behind them as they wormed their way through the collapsed building, keeping low to avoid being stuck by a wayward shot. She ducked under a portion of collapsed ceiling, coughing slightly from a cloud of soot that was stirred up by their passage. Climbing out the opposite window into the next street, she sighed, brushing some of the soot from her clothes. She saw no government soldiers, which meant that they still controlled this areaâ?¦for now. Another tank fired again in the distance, and she heard the sound of collapsing rubble and the shattering of glass accompany the blast.

She sucked a breath of smoke-filled air into her lungs, trying to steady her frayed nerves. There was so much adrenaline running through her veins that she was nearly shaking. She walked towards the mortared school. Barbed wire and sandbags lined the pockmarked walls, graffiti scrawled on the gray concrete. Bizarrely, she could swear that she heardâ?¦musicâ?¦echoing faintly from within the building.

She rushed inside, now hearing the music clearly now. Who in their right mind would be playing music at a time like this?!

â??Is there anyone going after that fucking T-72?â? She shouted, walking over to the maps on the wall. As if to give her words more urgency, there was a muffled report in the distance. The baritone thrum of the cello in her ears was another distraction â?? a far more welcome one, perhaps â?? but in her rattled state, right now she just wanted calm, something she would not find in a warzone.

â??Senka, are you alright?â? Bojan asked her, referring to the wound on her back. Senka sighed heavily.

â??Yes, Bojan, I am fine. Go tend to your mother. She needs you.â? She said, carrying her rifle out of the room. Gunfire rattled from the windows as she walked, shell casings littered the floor. Unceremoniously, she pulled off her ragged, soot-covered hoodie and the blood-stained shirt beneath, leaving her topless. Like many of the refugees, she was thin and dirty, her build almost gymnastic. Her lower back was caked with her blood from where the bullet had grazed her. She was lucky, a few centimeters to the right and it would have struck her spine.

Senka walked into a rubble-filled room â?? rather surprised to find the source of the music here. The rich notes emerged from a nearly pristine cello, played by a young woman â?? one that could not be older than her. She was not from here â?? she looked too healthy â?? which made her wonder just what she was doing here. But right now, she had other things to take care of. She grabbed a rag, one that was nearly as dirty as the shirt she had pulled off, and ran it under a broken pipe, soaking it through. She needed to clean the wound so it wouldnâ??t get infected.

She listened to the music the woman played. She was quite talented with the instrument. Senka felt a flare of anger and jealousy flare up in her stomach, that this woman had been able to grow up learning this talent, unlike her.

â??You. Give me a hand...â? She spoke in English, her words accented with her Slavic tongue, holding out the washcloth to her.

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• It almost seemed picturesque, the sad sort of picturesque quite frankly, there was something about the aura of her surroundings that left her feeling angry and a bit annoyed. This was not supposed to happen, nothing was supposed to happen like this so why was it happening to her? She had just barely turned eighteen and this was happening! It just wasn't fair! She was a fresh mind just now released into the world and ready to do something brilliant and beautiful though she wound up here from her first symphony solo, it absolutely was not fair! God! Why was He doing this to her? She had gone to church as a younger girl, Roman Catholic and brought up in the school system of that same church, her fingers went faster, the cello string's sound coming out violent and rapid, this was not the second time for her to cry. No, there were no more tears willing to fall from her eyes because she wouldn't let them. Amadora was letting her mind become entranced in the sound of the vibrating strings rising into the air, so far no one had taken the time to hassle or bother her, which she was quite thankful for. No one had tried to ask her any questions just yet and she didn't think she could come to terms with speaking, however, when she was called out to in a manner that she found rude, her eyes narrowed just slightly and the music came to an abrupt stop.
  
  There were plenty of words that could be said and numerous phrases that could be used, however, there was nothing from the teenage girl with mismatched eyes. Batting her thick eyelashes down at her tamed monster, there had still been no response or no movements toward the other who was evidently Slavic and trying to get her to do something for her. She had not been the one to save her life, no, she wasn't, which also meant she did not know her name. That didn't matter! If this other female did not know Amadora's name then wouldn't the common thing, the polite thing, to do would be to ask? Yes, it would, just like the polite thing to do in this Slavic girl's mind was to just so rudely tell her to help. "No." Her voice was soft, though there was nothing stopping that word from getting to her, even with the faint sound of something hitting the ground and exploding, the slightly shaking floor beneath her was starting to become disgustingly normal. . No, this was not normal, nothing here was normal, not even the washrag that that girl had just tried to get her to hold. She had always been raised in a privileged household, surrounded by the best knowledge that she could get because apparently things were planned at birth for this child to go far, however, this was not in the plan. Coming to a new place and getting bombed during a symphony performance was not in the plan.
  
  None of this was in the plan. Amadora was doubting God.
  
  Closing the case and scooting back against the wall with it, the Italian girl found her mind making mental comparisons of the two of them, the differences becoming like night and day. Judging by the way things were, this one was like the ones who had saved her, even if it was an unintentional savior, she was a rebel who had gotten some sort of wound or another. She was thin, not breakable thin, but thinner than her none the less. Amadora would like to blame it on genetics, when it was probably the home cooked food she was used to that caused her body to curve femininely the way it did. Her eyes were now staring at the blood that had been trapped and left to dry on her skin, obviously her own from getting nipped by a bullet, mentally noticing she wasn't wailing out as she had only recently heard a man go by screaming at the top of his lungs in pain. Pain often led to fear, and with a shiver going down her spine, the female shifted her fingers through her hair in light strokes, pushing it all to one side of her face and finding a clip hidden beneath her cello, she pinned the back just lightly before slowly standing to her feet. She felt like a child learning how to walk, using the wall to help her stand and leaning forward slightly, her legs felt like a jar of jam.
  
  Her eyes had settled for looking at the ground, the boots giving her a good inch or so of height, it didn't make her any taller, not that she minded being at her height anyhow. A soft breath causing her chest to rise and fall as she closed her eyes, a hand reached behind her and remained palm flat on the peeling paint, what was once a classroom becoming more and more visible to her. She could imagine children in here, running around and having fun after waking up from maybe a mid afternoon nap, ready and excited to play whatever game the teacher had in store. This just wasn't fair. Why was this happening? Her hand still flat against the wall, standing with the awkward position, her eyes moved to the topless female, not at all letting it render in her mind that she wasn't wearing a shirt. This was no time for any of that. Moving carefully though, her feet guided her slowly across the floor before taking the washcloth into her musically talented hands, she frowned at it being dirty before she even put it on her skin, doing what she had earlier said 'No' to and helping the rebel clean the blood off her skin.[/list:u]

 

[Survivor00]

Senkaâ??s grip tightened ever-so-slightly on the rag when the foreign girl quietly refused to help her with her wound, wringing the cold water from the cloth. Droplets slipped between her fingertips, stirring up small puffs of concrete dust when they hit the floor. Senka did not push the foreign girl any further, curtly replying: â??Fine,â? in Slavic before turning away from her. She walked silently to the center of the room and sat down on a chair â?? one that had been made for the children that once learned from within these walls. All of those children were now either dead, old enough to fight, or huddled up in their homes waiting for this nightmare to end. Senka re-soaked the cloth and tried reaching around herself, touching the cold rag against her skin. She winced as the rough fabric brushed against the wound. She knew she should be thankful that the wound was not serious. She had walked away with a scratch, while she knew that many others were far less lucky. She had seen the wounded every day, men as old as her father, crying like babies, crying for their mothers, their wives, their children. Women and children were not spared either â?? in the first days of the war, they had been blatantly targeted by snipers and machine gunners. She shook her head to try and clear those thoughts away â?? but it was something that would never fully leave her.

She sighed, using the flow of water from the broken pipe to wash her blood from the rag, watching the rust-colored water draining away through the cracks. She looked back at the foreign girl with the cello, wearing that near-pristine dress. She was so different from all of them, well-fed, healthy, probably never had to fight for a thing in her life. She was naïve to what went on here, her life now trapped with the rest of them inside this besieged city. Looking at her, seeing how she trembled like an autumn leaf, she felt both anger and pity towards her. More distant thumps echoed faintly in the air â?? mortars. They sounded different from other types of ordinance â?? that low whistle as the shell arced in, followed by the dull whumph of it hitting the ground. She had heard them long enough to identify them by sounds.

She turned away from her, focusing on the wall as she continued to wash the drying blood from her skin. She heard the sounds of that dress shuffling as the girl stood, her own movements slowing to a stop as she listened to see what the girl was up to. Slow, hesitant steps on boots that were clearly not her ownâ?¦her breath soft in the stale air. Those bootsteps came to a stop behind her, and Senka felt the rag gently pulled from her hand. She felt the rough fabric against her skin, washing away the blood. Cold rivulets of bloody water ran down her back, carving trails where the dust and dirt had settled upon her skin. It was obvious that most daily comforts werenâ??t available here, she looked like she had not bathed in a few days, and all of her clothes were dirty and patched several times. Even eating was optional at times.

Senka did not say anything for a few moments, before she turned her head and spoke plainly. â??Thanksâ?¦â? The words left her lips in a sigh, as she turned to look back at the opposite wall. The wound had thankfully stopped bleeding, so she would likely not need medical attention, maybe just a bandage to keep the wound covered. It wasnâ??t the only wound it looked like she had sustained in her life. A circular scar marred the skin on her shoulder, with an identical one on her front. She had been shot once before. Another pale mark along her side was caused by a piece of shrapnel. She rested her arms on her thighs, looking endlessly at that wall, not speaking after that crude, simple thanks.

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• She had been stared at, but nothing past that 'No' had been said on her part. In Italy, this girl, and it had taken her the time from sitting on the floor and noticing the other's presence to realize this, would be clean. She would be clean and she definitely wouldn't be as thin as she was. No, Amadora wasn't exactly pudge with legs, but again, she had a figure that was thanks to heritage and wonderful culture. Perhaps this place had those things before all this happened, but perhaps she just was trying to be optimistic. Yes, that was optimism speaking, and she wished that this optimism could carry she and her cello away, back home to the calm streets and the warm confines of her bed. This was a dream, it had to be. Deciding she would give herself a pinch after doing the mixture of both pulling the dirt and blood off her skin with the rag, the thank you in her terms was expected a few minutes ago, perhaps when she had started to 'help' her anyway, so obviously, Amadora felt she had little to no manners. A brute. TO put it plainly, the brand had been slapped on the other girl's forehead since she had demanded that she get the blood off her back anyway. Why had she been bleeding like that in the first place?
  
  Chewing on the soft, full flesh of her bottom lip, she pushed away the question and figured that something smart and ungodly snippy would shoot out of her mouth like the bullet that had obviously clipped her. "Your Welcome." Pay no mind to her crude tone. She obviously has a complex. There were footsteps that caused her head to turn carefully, taking note that they looked familiar, or at least they looked like the one beneath her, in the sense of what they were wearing. After finding that she was finished, or at least she had gotten most of the blood ( and quite secretly the dirt ) off from the spot, her head turned again and found a male actually enter the decaying room, looking between the two of them then over to the cello case with a vague striking of curiosity. The rag was handed back to the brute girl and her eyes followed the male as he reached out to touch the case, "Don't touch it." Her voice was unwavering, mentally satisfied that his hand had stopped in mid strike against running his fingers over the clasps of her cello case, crossing the distance rather fast for someone of her ( lack there of ) height, there was a look on his face that she so plainly ignored.
  
  "And who are you to stop me from-" His hand was trying to fill in that foot distance from opening the cello case, and Amadora was not having it. The sound of a hard thud and a sharp intake of breath, followed by, "WHO THE FUCK GAVE HER BOOTS?" The female snatched her case up and raised the heel of her foot off his toes, thankful that his boots weren't steel toed or protected by any other hard surface, "Don't touch it." She repeated half silently, her feet moving swiftly and snatching up a chair on her way to an opposite corner, sitting politely with several mumbles of the man being 'hard headed' and numerous other words in Italian. That was another thing on her list that she could take note about these people : For what they were, they did not listen. Or at least, this one surely didn't. One light hazel eye and the other brown eye narrowed all the while she watched the soldier hobble out, angered and furious that not only had his toes just probably got broken, but he STILL hadn't gotten to touch the cello. If he would've come with a different approach, she wasn't sure if she would've let him touch it anyway, her arms wrapping around the neck of the case, her slitted eyes looked to the wall for a bit of comfort. [/list:u]

 

[Survivor00]

Senka could hear the bitterness in the foreign girlâ??s voice even as she replied. So the feeling was mutual, it seemed. But regardless of the words exchanged, it had felt good to feel at least some water on her dirtied and bruised skin. The heavy sound of approaching bootsteps did not draw her attention the way it had drawn the foreignerâ??s, knowing that as long as it was not accompanied by the roar of gunfire, or screams of an enemy attack, that there was no immediate threat to her. Lazily, she glanced over at the man â?? one just as ragged and tired looking as anyone else she knew. His eyes did not even fall upon her half-clothed form, or upon the foreign girl in the dress, and instead settled upon the strangely pristine cello case that rested upon the rubble against the far wall. Senka felt the soggy rag dropped back into her hand, and with a soft, wordless grunt, stood from the chair. She paid little attention to the exchange of dialogue between the girl and the fighter she knew briefly as Andrij, fully intending to leave the room and let the girl dig her own grave. She walked over and grabbed her shirt, sliding that on over her pale-skinned frame, and tossing her hooded jacket over her shoulder.

A heavy thump followed by Andrij yowling and cursing in Slavic finally made her cock an eyebrow and turn her head slightly, and she saw Andrij comicly grabbing at the toe of his boot as the foreign girl clutched the cello case as though her life depended on it. His voice raked loudly against her ears and she finally turned to face them both, the air escaping from her lips in an annoyed sigh. â??Just drop it, Andrij. It is all she has.â? Senka muttered as the scowling soldier hobbled out of the room. Finally after he was gone, she turned to look sharply at the girl sitting in a chair in the corner, the beginnings of a scowl curling her lips. She grabbed a chair and dragged it across the dusty room to rest in front of the woman. She straddled it backwards, her dark eyes meeting the foreignerâ??s, noting the two-toned discoloration with a fraction of interest before her gaze hardened again.

â??Look.â? She said in that heavily accented English of hers, â??You do not belong here. You know this.â? Her voice was cold and purposeful. It seemed that she had been educated before...she understood the English language quite well. â??But do not think that you will be protected like you were back home. We do not give a shit about where you were from, or what you did.â? A sharp report of something big exploding in the distance made her pause, and even she seemed to flutter against the sound. But her demeanor was only gone for a second, before she resumed. â??You are here, now. You go picking fights, nobody will protect you. Nobody will care.â? Senka abruptly ended the conversation there, standing from the chair and grabbing her rifle from where it leaned against the wall. She locked eyes with the girl for one more moment before she walked out of the crumbling room, trying to see if she could scrounge up a meager bite of food.

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• She did not care what that other woman thought, no she did not care in the slightest. Consider her stubborn, but she didn't hear that sigh of annoyance or that scowl that now graced her dirty features, no, she was not focused on any of those things. She wanted to go home, no, she wanted her moment at the symphony back. She wanted the sound of violins to wrap around her and pick her up off the ground, she wanted the sound of harps and pianos and- She wanted the music back. The sound of the chair scraping across the ground, attention only being caught when the female gave her a hardened glare to stare into her eyes, something several people found difficult for obvious reasons. Arms still wrapped around the neck of the case, her hands settled quaintly just where the neck led to the rest of the body, her eyes blinked only once and it had only been when she'd turned her head away from facing the wall. How utterly. . How utterly incorrect.
  
  Yes, that is what this was, to Amadora this was all incorrect. What was even more incorrect, however, was how the brute was speaking toward her, and for quite some time, she found herself wanting to jam the heel of her foot against her toe too. However, that would be unconstitutional and a bit unreasonable, but obviously, everyone here was barbaric. Her nails dug just slightly against the case, the explosion in the distance enough to be startling to her, as she obviously wasn't a pro at gun fire and tanks and exploding things everywhere. Picking fights? Is that what she called it? Oh, she had picked a fight because she didn't want someone touching the only thing she had left, first of all without asking, but second of all, without any respect toward her in the matter. Because he had decided that, oh, since it's here and all, and she's probably not going to do anything, I can touch whatever I want.
  
  "If no one gives a shit now, then how can you attempt to care later on?" Leaning her cheek gently against her last remaining posession, her eyes closed softly because this could be another moment to cry, although she kept herself from it. She had already cried today, earlier when she was sitting on the floor in this crumbling school room by herself. And again, she found she was by herself, standing slowly again and propping the cello against the wall, her eyes moved around the room, squatting down in front of a bookshelf that was probably filled with stories, now only seeing two, both having seen better days just like this building had. Picking them up silently, her mannerisms were odd in going about this, looking over the two of them and fixing them to stand upright, and for their spines to be out and visible, setting them in the way that books should be. It wasn't a school room anymore, but that was beside the point, moving to the chairs that had been scattered around and away from the small table where they should be, Amadora went to quietly moving them back to their designated area.
  
  Order in destruction.
  
  
  ooc :
  D;
  that's about as close as her appearance will get
  ( considering the only thing missing is her eye color,
  but eh. ) [/list:u]

 

[Survivor00]

Senka had given no reply to those last uttered words, and she did not intend to. What did that girl know of war? Of killing? Of seeing people die? If you cared â?? if you felt, you would never survive. You would never be able to take the life of the one who was trying to kill you. The sniper rifle patted at her side as she walked, as faithful a companion as she had known, slipping through the narrow, dirty corridors. Rebels crouched near boarded-up windows, firing at any Estovian soldiers that came into their sights, empty brass shells clinking softly as they bounced off of the broken, dusty floor. Bojan sat beside his mother while she lay on a mattress made of crushed cardboard boxes. She was horribly thin, her body wracked by an illness that seemed to suck the meat off her bones. Bojanâ??s head was slumped down on his shoulders, and Senka thought for a moment that he might have been crying, but a snort and a murmur of some words showed that he had fallen asleep while watching over her. She looked at him for a few more moments, before turning and heading into another gutted classroom.

Most of the large rooms â?? like the gymnasium and cafeteria â?? had caved in from the mortar shelling, so the kitchen had been moved to here. There wasnâ??t much as far as a kitchen went, with no gas or electricity to speak of, just two armed men standing guard over the meager stockpiles of food they had scavenged. They looked at her, reaching down and picking up a single can of beans and a scrap of bread â?? almost a dayâ??s rations, more or less â?? and tossed it to her. She caught it with a nod, tucking it into her pocket. â??Thank you.â? She murmured, feeling her empty stomach rumble just at the knowledge of food. Retreating from the room, she quickly found something remotely comfortable to sit herself upon, using an old can opener to punch a hole in the tin, scraping it around until she managed to open the can. Hunger dictated that she eat the entire can in one sitting, but she knew that it was the only meal she would likely be eating today, and thus, had to make it last. Using the circular piece of scrap she had carved from the can as a makeshift spoon, she scooped out a small mouthful of the mush and dumped it in her waiting mouth. It was cold against her tongue â?? the chilling air was starting to serve as refrigeration â?? how many were going to freeze to death in the winter? Certainly Bojanâ??s mother, if she lived past the end of the monthâ?¦ She swallowed the cool mush, and promptly ate another scoop. She took the piece of bread and tore a chunk out of it, chewing the stale bread thoroughly. Still, it was far better than no food again.

Senka finished the bread and placed the top back on the can of beans, her stomach somewhat quieted for the moment. Climbing stiffly to her feet, she tucked the can back inside her pocket, saving it for later. She walked quietly, pausing once more by Bojan and his mother. Crouching down, she grabbed a ratty blanket from near the wall and draped it over his shoulders, giving him at least a little warmth. His eyes fluttered open, and his head raised just enough so that he could see her. His eyes were red from crying, and the little light that had remained there for as long as she had known him was gone. His eyes sank back down to the frail, still form of his mother, and she nodded in understanding, placing her hand on his shoulder. She hadnâ??t even noticed earlierâ?¦ â??I am sorry, Bojanâ?¦at least you were there for herâ?¦â? She sighed out, knowing that her words of comfort were not much. Senka gave her moment of respect, before straightening herself and walking to one of the men. She relayed the news and returned once more to that dusty classroom.

Seeing Bojan in such a state tore at her more than she wanted to admit. She may have been hard on him, mean even at timesâ?¦but he was there. There was a bond that formed between snipers, and his scraps of hope had helped her along as well. But now, that hope was gone from him, and she felt the loss as well. She was not looking where she was going and suddenly found herself nearly tripping over a desk that had not been there moments before. â??What the fuck?!â? She snarled as she looked upon the chairs and desks having been dragged into an imitation of what had been there before the war. She looked over at the foreign girl, pinching tightly at the bridge of her nose in a desperate attempt to keep calm. She was close to snapping. Senka reached down and pulled the partially eaten can of beans from her pocket and slammed it down on one of the desks, stirring up a puff of dust. â??If I give you this, will you sit down?â? She growled at her.

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• The organization of the room made her feel all the more safer, if that was even possible in a place like this, she wasn't quite sure she enjoyed being alone in this crumbling building. What if something collided with this building and sent it tumbling to the ground just as the symphony hall had. What if the wrong shot caused a target to a bomb to blow them all to pieces? It was a startling concept, one that left her moving faster to get this room in it's proper order, the dust seeming to be laughing at her as it occasionally flew up to dare reach at her face and engulf her, blowing it the other was as a true expert to cleaning would. Tempted to use the rag that had been used to clean the blood and dirt off that brute's skin, her large eyes flickered about the room and found no signs of another rag, she let out a soft sigh, slipping out of her boots carefully. This was going to be a bit awkward, but thankfully no one had barged into the room yet, reaching under her dress for a moment and pulling down the soft nylon material of her tights, they were sheer, although she hadn't expected to be walked in on in such an awkward position.
  
  Especially not by the brute again. One of her hands holding the front of her dress while the other was tugging at the nylon, there was a flurry of heat to reach her cheeks and she instantly moved to pull them off her legs and step back into her boots. What a compromising position to be caught in. Thankfully, or at least in Amadora's mind, she hadn't paid any attention to it, being too busy messing up the alignment in her desks by nearly tripping over one. Obviously, she was not pleased, but that hadn't been her goal, eyes looking down at her tights as she carefully tore them in half down the center, folding one down carefully into a make shift rag, she used only a small amount of the water from the opposite rag, seeing as it was coated in a mixture of blood, sweat, dirt, and poor quality water, she began clearing the dirt off the desks silently. Frustration being pushed toward Amadora, it didn't cause her to stop, merely to look up when the can of beans slammed down on one of the desks she had yet to reach, however her eyes stopped on the can of beans.
  
  It looked like it had been shot at just like the rest of them had! And it was just a can of beans! That wasn't why she wouldn't eat the beans however. A half full can of beans, she noted, as she peeked over it. She was offering her a can of beans to sit down? Furrowing her brows just slightly, the sometimes frustratingly stubborn girl shook her head sternly, "No. I won't. But I know if you finish eating them it will shut you up." She snapped, shoving the can of beans back into her hands and scrubbing at the desk with a bit of force, this probably being the cleanest desk in this room. She was cleaning for if they came back. She was cleaning so that something, if the children who had once been in this very room, looked familiar. It would look as though it had when they left, even if the walls were crumbling and the bookshelf was without all the books it had once had. Amadora wasn't hungry, or at least she didn't feel hungry, but just because she had organized a room she was frustrated? Please. Not only was she rude, but obviously she didn't have manners and she didn't have any common manners.
  
  "Picking fights. I'm not picking fights damnit," She was on her last desk when her eyes shot back to the brute again, different colored orbs narrowed, she began to advance on her now, "I'm not here for this! I didn't come here to hear you talk to me like I'm a child because I'm not used to bombs blowing up everywhere and dead people laying around like grass! But I'm not going to apologize for it! I'm not even going to apologize for putting the desks back the way they should be!" She wasn't hollering, but her voice had gotten past the regular octave that she used, evidently, this was another side effect of this situation toying with Amadora's mind. But that had only been the build up to her own personal explosion, "AND YOU DON'T MAKE ANY GODDAMN SENSE! AND I HATE YOU! AND I WANT TO PLAY IN MY GODDAMN SYMPHONY!" Now, through those last words, she had definitely been screaming, her cheekbones a soft pink color, moving swiftly through the aisles and kicking a chair out of her way to get back to her cello.
  
  "Filthy, fastidioso bruta. Ha ottenuto il suo nervo." [/list:u]

 

[Survivor00]

Senka paid little attention to the fact that she had walked in on the foreigner reaching up under her dress. The girl could have been masturbating and she still probably wouldnâ??t have cared, at least that would have kept her occupied in a less disrupting manner. The girl tore her nylons in half and scrunched them up, using them pointlessly as a cleaning rag. She scrubbed at the desks with a little bit of dirty water dripped from the cloth she had used earlier. Senka knew what she was trying to do, and knew that it wouldnâ??t work. There was no â??fixingâ?? this, no matter what you did. Even if the war ended tomorrow, Senka didnâ??t think it would - could ever be fixed. Senka watched as the girl glared at the half-empty can of food that had slammed down before her, before it was shoved back into her hands. The foreignerâ??s words began to pluck at the frayed strings of her temper, and Senka held onto the tin can tight enough that her knuckles started to go pale.

The girl continued to furiously scrub and dust the few desks that had not been used for firewood, moving from one row to the next. Senka had not moved an inch, her glaring eyes following the girl around the room, biting her tongue to keep herself from launching into a tirade at the girl. But when the foreigner started to advance on her, her voice rising in volume and tone, she gave up any restraint she was holding. Senka slammed the can of beans onto the desk again, took two steps towards the foreigner as she tried to retreat back to that damned cello of hers - how long would it take before that was scrapped for firewood? - and grabbed her shoulder. She felt the fabric of the foreign girl's fancy dress bunch up beneath her fingers, and Senka spun the girl around and shoved her down - hard - into a chair. â??Sit down!â? She shouted, glaring at her. â??Do you think any of us were used to this? Are used to this? My friendâ??s mother just died before his eyes, and you think that youâ??re unlucky?â?

She was screaming now too, the wound in her back aching with each word. â??You want to play your damn symphony? Fine then! Play it! Play until your god-damned fingers bleed! I wonâ??t stop you. But playing music will not keep you, me, or anyone else in this cesspit alive! They â??â?? She stabbed towards the outer wall with her finger, â??will not hold back because you are not from here! So, stop your useless bitching, and learn to live with where you are now!â? Her throat was nearly raw when the first set of mortars shrieked in from above. She didn't even hear them coming in - sometimes she could - but not this time. The floor suddenly jumped up at her, nearly knocking her off her feet as dust poured from the ceiling. She heard glass shattering somewhere, and the sudden, agonized wail of someone who had been caught be shrapnel.

â??Get down!â? Senka knocked the foreigner to the floor, covering her with her own body â?? the first concern for her physical safety she had shown since they had met. "Do not move." She rasped over the noise. Another round of mortars shrieked in from above, blasting the world into oblivion. Her teeth felt like they were going to come loose. Dislodged ceiling tiles fell on them, and Senka felt something painful jabbing into her back, but it quickly passed. A third salvo followed soon after, crashing down with enough force to collapse part of the school, smoke and dust brewing up into the sky.

Finally, there was stillness...

Then the screaming started. Dozens of voices as one, wailing with pain, rising up from the depths of the shattered school. Gunfire popped as well, as those still in condition to fight scrambled to defend themselves from in incoming assault.

Ears ringing and coughing on the thick dust that filled the air, Senka pushed off of Amadora's body and scrambled to her feet, stumbling over to grab her rifle from where it had fallen to the ground. â??Bojan!â? She barked, trying to clear her throat of the dust-laden air. â??Come on!â? Bojan came stumbling out through the dust, a bloody gash weeping along his jaw. His eyes blazed, his rifle clenched in his hands. They did not need to speak, it was already known what they had to do.

Bojan grabbed the one of the desks that Amadora had reorganized, hurling it over against the wall, and climbed on top of it. A hole in the roof of the room served as their access to the second floor - what was left of it, at least. Senka quickly started up after him, but she paused for long enough to turn back to the foreign girl. She held out her hand urgently. "Come on! Follow us!"

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• • • Whether or not Amadora would come to terms with the reality that faced her, one could not be sure, however it had kept her calm up until unfortunately the other within the room felt the need to speak yet again. Destroying any peace that seemed to settle within the room, her eyes wide when she felt her figure turn to face the other, what? Female, slammed her down into the seat, eyes subconsciously looking up into the glare the other female had for her. Of course Amadora was going to assume that the other was used to it, judging by that gritty, hardcore exterior she had and the fact that even after a double take or two she looked like a man, it would be easy to figure she had just grown used to this horrible situation she was in. Perhaps that was just the young Italian girl thinking higher of herself, the screams shattering most of her thoughts with the occasional shrill words. There was nothing she could do or say in this because it wouldn't exactly get her out of this situation, but there had to be some understanding coming from Amadora's perspective.
      
      No matter how many times she pushed against it, Amadora knew just as well as Senka did that she wasn't used to this situation. Wasn't used to any of it. She had led a healthy, enriching life up until now, and this? This was not what she had expected upon her arrival. Eyes shooting upward almost instantly when she heard the sound, that terrible terrible sound that she would have repeated again and again in her mind for quite some time, she was a bit stunned when her back hit the floor, knocked from the chair by another body. Eyes closed out of natural reaction from the impact of the floor on her back, her air pushed upward causing her to breathe out awkwardly, eyes still closed when she yelled for her to stay down. Why yell when she was on top of her? How was she going to move when she had a body on top of her? What sense did that make? However, this was definitely not the time to start an argument, eyes remaining in their closed state when she felt an added bit of pressure be applied to the weight on top of her.
      
      She was evidently afraid to open her eyes, she could feel the body of the school shift, knowing that it wasn't good at all for the frame of the school to move completely. At least the whole thing hadn't- But what about all of those people? As though God was screwing with her again, the sound of screaming generating her eyes to flash open, nothing left to keep her eyes closed for as that meant darkness. Darkness was not something she wanted to hear screams in, the weight of Senka's body raising off of her, Amadora found herself in an out of body experience when she stood and moved quickly toward the case of her beautiful monster. She could not let it go in this situation, the only real thing she had to recall anything close to what she had lived in before, looking toward Senka when she screamed out for what she would assume to be one of the female's, er, fellow persons in this situation; She didn't want to call this Bojan a lacky, although he did come running like a pup-
      
      Oh dear, he was bleeding! Was he the one who had just had his mother die? There was no time to think or ask, shifting the strap out of her cello case and moving her body to set it on her shoulder and across her chest; She was serious in not letting this thing go. There was a moment of mind blockage where Amadora's brain again began to go through questions, numerous, numerous questions. Were they going to leave her here? Evidently that was how it looked, her bright, though mismatched eyes wide as her hands gripped onto the strap, the warm toned skin of her hands turning pale, if she was to die in here, at least she wouldn't die alone. However, and blinking softly, the sound of her voice cutting through her thoughts was starting to become familiar, moving toward the desk that had once been properly organized, she allowed herself to crawl through a hole in the ceiling, thanking God she was used to carrying her cello around in such a way that it wouldn't become a hassle.
      
      And if it did, she wasn't quite sure she would take the time to make that announcement. [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

 

[Survivor00]

Senka watched with wide eyes as the foreign girl darted off to grab the damned cello case. "What are you doing? You stupid bitch!" She slipped back into her native tongue as she cursed Amadora out for her idiocy, but she remained where she stood, hand outstretched, waiting until the girl had returned, lugging that oversized case with her. It would only slow them down. "Leave it!" She shouted, but when she saw that the foreign girl would never abandon the only surviving piece of her own life, she groaned in defeat and helped her up to the second floor, straining against the weight of both girl and cello. As soon as Amadora was up, Senka scrambled up after her, adrenaline flooding her veins.

"Senka! Hurry! They're coming!" Bojan shouted to her, already unslinging his rifle and loading it. Bullets cracked off the concrete facade of the ruined school, kicking up bursts of dust. The Estovans were making a serious push this time. This was not one of their scouting groups. She heard the rattle of tank treads on pavement, only moments before a tank shell burst somewhere far too close to them. She felt the blast in her stomach, and she stumbled, caught herself, and continued to run towards the nearest window.

"Stay here!" She yelled to Amadora, her voice nearly a raw shriek from the dust and constant yelling. Senka skidded down beneath some cover, pulling the rifle off her shoulder and grabbing for a magazine from her jacket pocket. Her hands came across something soft and unexpected. She pulled the teddy bear she had grabbed earlier in the day - although it already felt like a lifetime ago - and gingerly set it aside. As soon as her fingertips left the ratty-looking bear, she was a trained killer. She grabbed a magazine, rapped it against the side of her rifle to clear away any dust that might foul the weapon, and slammed it into the receiver.

Ten shots.

She used the shattered wall to mount the rifle, peering over into the courtyard. Dozens of muzzle flashes winked up at them, a hailstorm of bullets chipping away at the concrete. smokey, blue-grey RPG trails streaked back and forth across the courtyard, bursting in geysers of dirt and shattered stone. In the smokey distance, dark gray shapes moved - tanks. She pushed those distractions from her mind, peering through the scope, sighting on a figure running across the courtyard. Pull the trigger. The gun bucked against her shoulder, and the figure dropped to the ground, writhing and bleeding. The spent casing flew from the action, skittering away.

Nine Shots.

She shifted her aim, two men, trying to set up a machine gun. Pull the trigger.

Eight Shots.

Aim, fire.

Seven shots.

The acts were so fluid, so rehearsed, she didn't need to think. It was instinct. It was a symphony of her own kind, played with cold lead and gunpowder instead of strings, her rifle the instrument of choice. Someone screamed horribly as a burst of rifle fire stitched their belly - Senka swung her aim to a man ducking down behind the wrecked fountain. Pull the trigger. The back of his skull tore away, he dropped like a log.

Six.

Her blood roared in her ears, almost drowning out the deafening clatter of assault rifles and machine guns. The T-72's main gun bellowed, and the building beneath her bucked like a horse, hot stone fragments stung her skin. Dust gushed out over the courtyard, hiding the soldiers in a veil. Two rebels appeared on a balcony above the tank and fired an RPG straight down into its vulnerable turret. Smoke and fire brewed up in a blazing fireball as the tank tore itself apart.

A bullet snapped past her head, close enough that she could feel the air tugging at her in its passing. Finger twitch, fire. A mottled green uniform suddenly bloomed with red blood.

Five.

Fire.

Four

Fire.

Three.

Another tank crashed through a wall, grinding over burnt cars and bodies, crushing the makeshift barricades set up before the courtyard. The turret belched fire and blew another hole through the crumbling school. Several RPGs tried to destroy the tank, but they missed. Soldiers opened fire at the RPG teams, but exposed themselves to Senka's aim.

Fire.

Two.

Fire.

One.

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• • • There was more than one instance where Amadora was sure that whatever Senka was saying in her native tongue toward her was nothing close to anything nice. Silently wondering if anything that had ever come from her lips was close to being 'nice', she damn sure hadn't heard anything, nothing comforting, nope. Not a word. Just brutal screams and raw, raspy tones. Always hollering. Well, whatever she had been called, Amadora mentally took note that she had kept herself in that very same position, unmoving to leave her there like her friend obviously had expected her to do. She was not going to leave her cello behind to let some worthless morons either destroy it or have a building crash down on it. No, Amadora was not going to let that happen. The sound of bullets striking would crowd her thoughts like gas to a small room, filling the air of her mind, the rattle and shake of the ground something that left her obviously close to feeling whatever food was in her system to lurch up.
      
      Fortunately, she managed to keep it in her system, doing as she was told, hands still holding onto the strap of her cello as though it were someone's child to be hidden there. It was a child, her own, if you were to think about it in such a way. Amadora's child, subject to warfare and gunshots, dying people and even her slightly dirt hands. Was it safe for her to remain sitting up in the way she was? She wasn't sure, although with the ground rattling the way it was, Amadora moved as carefully as she could, laying herself flat on her back and closing her eyes, obviously not trying to get any sleep judging by the unpeaceful way her eyes were closed. Close to resembling how they were just earlier actually, when the first sounds of pain and anguish had rang out in the air. With her eyes closed, it was only natural for Amadora's mind to begin using her opposite senses for the better.
      
      Little did the two of the snipers know that she was beginning to count the shots, despite the sound being uncomfortably unfamiliar, it was a habit to count things. They were like beats, shots, screams, and beats. Beats that if she wanted to, she could play on her cello, but she didn't want to sit up, she didn't want to open her eyes. She had already gotten her cello dirty, she might as well simply wait. The sound of something getting hit close, within the proximity that probably could have been her if she hadn't laid out on the floor, Amadora kept her pretty eyes closed, continuing to count shots. The walls shaking thanks to something larger than a bullet being launched toward the school building, of all the places in the world to be, she damn sure didn't want to be in this school when it came crumbling to the ground.[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

 

[Survivor00]

As soon as the last round had left the barrel of her rifle, Senka was already moving. She ducked back down behind the rapidly failing cover of the school wall, ejecting the spent magazine and catching it in her palm. She stuffed it back in her pocket for later use - magazines were hard to come by, easier to reload your own - and grabbed for a fresh one. She repeated the process of tapping it once to clear the dust, and slammed it into the receiver. The air was thick with dust and the stench of death and gunsmoke, and she grabbed the tattered scarf from around her neck and tugged it up over her nose and mouth. She lifted her eyes for a quick glance at Amadora's huddled, dust-covered form before she quickly turned her focus back to the war zone that had formed before her. With an almost mechanical precision, she struck down two men who were firing over a broken wall.

The surviving tank shell continued bombarding the remains of the school with impunity, and the whole structure shuddered and shifted. Many of the surviving rebels were already retreating, scattering like roaches when the lights were turned on. Senka, and a few others seemed determined not to fall back until the school fell out from under them. A stream of bullets stitched the stone behind her, and there was the sudden wet slapping noise of a bullet hitting flesh. She felt the soft splatter of warm blood that was not her own against her face, and the thud of a limp weight hitting the floor. Instantly, she felt her blood rush cold in her veins. She knew what would await her if she turned to look, but she could not stop herself from doing so.

Bojan was no longer at her side.

He lay, motionless, on the floor, half of his face torn away. He'd died instantly, if that was a small mercy. (It wasn't.) Something...broke. She couldn't...couldn't place it. The two had never admitted feelings for the other, but he was the closest thing to a friend she had left. He had put up with her coldness, her insults, and let it all slide away. Never once had he complained. And now he had been ripped from her, just like her family, her home, had once been.

He couldn't...

The rifle dropped from her hands, hitting the debris-strewn roof with a clatter. He was dead. She could see that. Yet why couldn't she stop her hands from grabbing his jacket and shaking him? "Get up..." The words were choked, her eyes wide, trembling. "You stupid...get up!" Bojan's shattered head just rolled loosely on his shoulders. Blood soaked his clothes, and her hands. "Get up!" She screamed at him, feeling the hot wetness of tears rolling down her cheeks.

Suddenly, she was 16 again, clutching the body of her father on that damned freeway, the screams of the dying and the all-too-familiar shriek of mortars melting together in her ears. She felt just as helpless now as she did then.

 

[ohstefyelectric]

• • • Even though she had been surrounded by death for the past what, twenty four hours? However, with such a thing being said, Amadora had been under a pile of rubble, surprisingly uninjured and not having to see how the majority of everyone else around her had died. She hadn't watched them die in front of her and she hadn't seen anyone get shot before. She'd only ever seen her goldfish die, and that wasn't the greatest experience for her as a child, though it was nothing like this, nothing like opening your eyes at the wrong time, looking to the side and watching a bullet tear through flesh, skull, and brain. It was at that point that she closed her eyes and turned her head, coughing only twice before a surge of vomit fell from her lips, steady coughing the rest of whatever it was her system could push up. It was sickening, she had never seen anything like that before and never expected to see it, especially not someone who had been living and breathing only a short, short while ago. However, even as Amadora's world slowed down and almost stopped, the sound of gunshots ringing out and even the sound of Senka moving toward her friend to bring him back from the dead never stopped.
      
      The world never stopped, it never once stopped. It should have. If she controlled the world, this wouldn't have happened. None of this would have- Shaking her head softly, she could feel the ground rumbling, sitting up and shifting back and away from her vomit, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes glanced up toward the sky. Heavy chest rising and falling, sitting here was not going to do anything, turning her head slowly to hear the second scream of Senka shouting out toward Bojan as though hollering at him would wake him up from this dream. He wasn't going to wake up. Amadora was quick to know that. He wasn't getting up, and if they didn't get up, as she soon realized, they would through the floor. With the ground shaking in the way it was, it seemed that the tank was bringing forth the end of the world as it decemated the school building and suspected that all the beings in it were dead and gone. Her legs shifting downward slightly, Amadora moved quickly, crawling carefully just in time for the floor where she had been laying to fall down toward the ground.
      
      Amadora was now crawling awkwardly with a cello case on her back, moving toward the other warm body count and shaking her arm gently, " It's falling -" Deciding she probably didn't have time for a complete sentence, Amadora reached out and gripped her hand hard, pulling her toward the only stable wall of the school left, another space of the floor crumbling in again. With her grip on her blood stained hand pulling her away from the dead body of her friend, sure it would be different if he was anywhere near alive, but he wasn't, as unfortunate as that was. However, Amadora knew she couldn't do it herself as far as surviving in this hellhole, dragging the other away from the dead body and turning her head when she watched Bojan's lifeless figure fall into the massive pit as well. [/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]