Stray: Up Above

(by DevWinger) The swiftly fading light from the setting sun outlined two silhouettes perched atop a roof. One was sitting, legs dangling over the edge and jerking in an agitated manner that amplified the worried look that creased his face. A thin stream of smoke drifted up from the cigarette dangling from his hand. The other was crouched next to him; their face obscured by a mixture of shadows and artfully arranged clothing. Unseen eyes were fixed on the horizon, almost as if purposefully ignoring the other. The one sitting down stirred, tilting their head to angle it away from their companion’s line of sight.

“We’re screwed.”

The shadows in the crouching one’s face deepened as his eyes narrowed, though whether it was from irritation or some other emotion you could not tell.

Legs kicked out again as the cigarette rose upwards, and a somewhat shaky drag was taken, the air expelled again in a rush of supposedly calming smoke. “Did you hear me? We’re utterly screwed. God. We’ll be lucky if we’re just banished. He’s going to kill us -”

“He might not get a chance.” The soft voice cut through the other’s frenzied muttering, husky and slightly muffled by the dark cloth wrapped around the lower half of his face. When his companion looked at him enquiringly, he tipped his head to indicate the cigarette. “You might kill yourself with those things before he can get his hands on you.”

The anxious twitching stopped for a moment, and he coughed out a disbelieving snort. “Goddammit, what the hell is wrong with you? We’re about to be – and you’re just – you’re bloody insane, Jinx.”

Jinx merely shrugged, and turned his head back to look at the horizon.

“We messed up. This was an important job, and we messed up badly. There’s no way he’ll let us get out of this without punishment.” Another drag, longer than the last one, and he ran his fingers through his ginger hair. “We. Are. Screwed.”

“You’re overreacting,” Jinx sighed, shuffling around a little. “And repeating yourself. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You’re an idiot,” he spat back, thumping his heel viciously into the wall. “Hell, we’re better off running for it now.”

“No, we’re not.” The muffled voice was calm, under control, and held the barest hint of amusement. “We’re going to be fine, Risk.”

The ginger-topped head snapped around to glare at him with green eyes bordering on hysteria. “Shut the hell up, Jinx. You can sit there in denial if you want, but leave me out of it. Don’t drag me into your bloody insanity. I’m getting out of here. I’m not going to sit and wait and -”

The corners of Jinx’s eyes creased, suggesting there was a smile hovering beneath the cloth mask, and he lifted his arm and spread one hand out to show his companion the object nestled there.

Risk cut off in mid-rant, eyes widening to absurd proportions as he stared silently down at Jinx’s palm and the salvation that lay quietly. Mutely he looked up into his friend’s face, and then down again. “You…”

“Yeah.”

Risk gave a harsh laugh, and shook his head. “You got it. You had it all along. Jinx, you are an absolute bastard.”

“I know.” Another crinkling of the eyes. “It gives me so much pleasure.”

The laugh was gentler this time, and Risk thumped his companion lightly on the shoulder. “You are going to give me a full-blown heart attack one day. You’ll be the reason I die.”

“Nah. That pleasure is reserved for your cancer sticks.”

“Bastard.”