Unfortunate Catastrophes.

Levy

✿ crafty flavor ✿
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. 1-3 posts per day
  2. One post per day
  3. 1-3 posts per week
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
Fantasy (high, low and anything in between), modern, medieval, anything that'll keep me at the edge of my seat. Romance is absolutely necessary. And fluff. Just a lil bit.
The day at the library had gone just as any other; nothing too out of the ordinary. She had spotted a fleeting cat with a coat of midnight fur cross her feet, which, in hindsight, should've been her first red flag to run for the hills, to get her sorry ass home and bury her face in a bible or some other religious text, or to grab the vegetable oil from the cabinet and anoint herself.

For when it came time to close up shop, she had seemingly stumbled into what appeared to be a federal offense. The terrible navigator she is, June had been nose deep in a book, and one wrong step led to one wrong turn into the wrong alleyway. June stared, eyes boggling out of her skull, at the sight before her. A man beaten to the ground sitting in a pool of someone's blood, with a group of rowdy looking people surrounding him. She counted 5 men and 3 women.

Of course, because that was just her luck.

Fear had taken its grip on her knees. One woman looked over her shoulder and discovered June, standing there with quivering hands clasping a book. For a moment, they held a steady glance, and June silently pleaded with her, but it was too late. Another man, and another, and another all looked at June. Curse her small stature-- they all towered over her like lions over a mushroom. They were shouting, and she knew this because their mouths were moving and hands were waving, but she could not decipher the words on their lips. She almost forgot to run.

Somewhere along the way of sprinting for her fucking life, June had, in addition to dropping the book that had gotten her into this mess in the first place, dropped her bag, which held her cell phone and wallet. Of course. Of course. Of fucking course. She had turned at every possible street, trying to shake them off her tail, but they were persistent. And very fast. A fleeting glance behind her shoulder told her that it was not, in fact, the entire gang that chased after her, but only two. A man and a woman.
 
Last edited:
For most of the afternoon, Peter Menlow had been scouting the territory, looking for anything unusual. The past few days had been quiet. He wasn't sure if that was because the Vipers had scared off every other gang around, or if the other gangs were planning something. He didn't particularly care. He needed to get some spying practice in, anyway. He huffs and tosses his dark brown hair out of his eyes, tugging his leather jacket a bit closer as the night slowly seeps across the dusk. It would be dark soon. And cold.

Peter glances over his shoulder and sets his jaw as the sound of sirens blares in the distance. They're low and fast, too unique to be regular police sirens or fire engine wails. Peter is sure it's the underground gestapo. They were known as the bloody collars by all the gangs in the area; they pretended to be on the side of the law, but everyone knew they favored whoever offered the most bribes, taking down everyone else who didn't continuously bring them. And Peter's gang had been falling behind on payments.

Then a girl bursts past the corner of the concrete wall. Peter blinks and stumbles backward, caught off guard for a moment. He instinctively lunges forward and tries to yank her behind the wall with him. Whoever she is, Cobra's going to want to know about her. Besides, the Vipers could always use a few extra members. "Where's the fire?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "Late for a party or something?"

He tries to ignore the approaching sirens. Hopefully the gestapo aren't out for blood tonight. If they get any closer, he's going to bring the girl back to headquarters and question her there so he can warn the gang at the same time. There's no way he's letting himself become responsible for his entire gang's arrest. Especially not when most of the people who end up in the underground jail never come back out alive.
 
June screamed when a pair of hands wrap around her and pull her behind a wall. Her first instinct was to thrash, throwing arms left and right, kicking whatever her legs could touch. When he asked her seemingly customary questions, she broke free of his grip and held a defensive stance, hands instinctively pulling at the bottle of mace tied around her neck that masqueraded as a charm. But when he did not go to punch her in the gut or even hold an aggressive gaze at her, she faltered.

Before she could attempt at communication, however, the pair of apparent criminals that were previously chasing down June with likely intentions of cold hard murder, turned the corner. June felt the presence of people, and when she turned her head, found that her assumption has been right. She scrambled, panicking, and hid behind the man she had just found. She decided he was her new comrade.

"Oi! There she is! The fast little shit--goddamn tiny people and their tiny legs. Oh. Hey Pierre. The pipsqueak your friend?" The man asked. June could only make out the word tiny, and twice too, to which she stomped her foot defensively. The woman chuckled, to which June realized that she held both her bag and her book in her hands. To June's heavy dismay, she could see her new self declared comrade chatting with the two criminals, who suddenly didn't look so intent on murdering her in an abandoned warehouse and leaving her tied up for the rats.

Well, if she wasn't in any eminent danger, she might as well have her belongings back. June stepped forward and tapped her foot lightly on the ground to gain everyone's attention. She proceeded to point to the bag and the book that the woman held, and make a motion that looked like giving it back.
 
Peter bites his lip and mutters under his breath as Savvy and Thompson round the corner. He hadn't expected the Ravens to be here. Now he's got bigger problems to worry about than the bloody collars. He tosses his hair out of his eyes and huffs, leaning back against the brick wall with crossed arms. "Nah. She literally just ran through here," Peter says. "But I think we could use her. You said it yourself, she's fast. I think she'd make a great Raven."

Actually, depending on how good a gangster she is, the girl might make a great Viper, too. But Peter's only going to consider that after she's earned some respect. It would be nice to have another double agent on the team. The trick is not getting attached to anyone on either side. Or anyone at all.

Peter jumps as the bloody collar sirens blare even closer than before. He grits his teeth and tenses as the girl asks for her belongings back, glancing between her and the direction of the sirens. "Anyway, let's speed this up. Savvy, give her her stuff back. And you," he adds, pointing at June, "Unless you want to die in an underground prison, you're coming with us. We've got to get out of here. Where are the others, Thompson?" he adds, turning back toward the man.

Then he pauses and raises an eyebrow. "And what are you and Savvy doing so deep in Viper territory? You two aren't spies. You don't know the area. You could be killed." Despite his strong beliefs, Peter's a hypocrite. He cares about members from both the gangs. A lot.
 
June suddenly looks perplexed as her comrade-not-comrade points a finger at her, then utters the words die and coming. The woman holding her things hands them back to her with a sheepish smile, which only further addled her mind. Did they want her dead or not? She could hear the high pitched sound of something that looked to be drawing nearer and wracked her mind for what it could be. Sirens! The police were near! If she could run fast enough, maybe they would notice her. And she would be safe.

Thompson kicked a pebble. "We killed a Viper. Scott, I think was his name. I know how you are with murder, Pierre. I swear, we meant it only as a game, just to scare some information out of him, and he did. He even tried to bribe us to let him go. So things got kind of out of hand, and that's when the pipsqueak showed up." He said, rubbing the nape of his neck in shame. Of course, he wasn't the one who did the most damage, but he certainly didn't stop it. Savvy patted him on the back.

"Yeah. Don't sweat it, dude. He was probably a shitty person, letting info of his own gang out to his rival. That shit's fucked u-- Hey! Short stack! Shrimpy!" Savvy called. June, in her misguided brilliance, had taken the opportunity of the trio's discussion and distraction to sprint out of the alleyway and into the main road, where she could hear the ringing noise the clearest. A squadron of black cars lined up with blaring sirens met her gaze. What met her body, however, was the body of another man, much burlier and much stockier than her. He was massive compared to her, and was clad in dark clothing, guns and ammunition in just about every pocket she could see. She staggered back, shocked.
 
Peter grimaces and drops his gaze, shoving his hands in his pockets. He'd known Scott too well. One of the Viper's grunts who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. Being murdered himself seemed a fitting end. Still, Peter hates the idea of killing anyone. In his mind, it makes him just as bad as the ones who kill.

"Nothing to be done about it now," he murmurs at last. "But he did deserve it. I've spied on him a few times, and he's killed a lot of people. If I'd been around in time, I would've stopped him. I know I would have."

Peter whips around when June takes off at a sprint, his eyes widening. If she thinks she's going to the police, she's sorely mistaken. She's going to find nothing but the opposite of help from the gestapo. He grits his teeth and runs after her. "That idiot! She's going to get herself killed!" he bursts out. "You two, get the rest of the Ravens out of here! The bloody collars are in that alley!"

Thankfully, he's been practing his parkour. He jumps onto a dumpster and then a building roof, running along the top edge of the concrete, although he almost slips once or twice. He catches up to June just as she meets one of the gestapo, skidding to a stop and panting. Things don't look good. He glances around desperately for something to use as a rope. Then he grins.

A length of tubing lies beside a box of open tools. Someone must've been fixing power lines and forgotten it. Peter sinks to his knees and quickly ties a loop in one end of the tube. Then he tosses the tube down to June, hoping she'll see it and grab it. It'll be no trouble to pull someone her size up; he's lifted a lot of heavier things before, including a pair of Vipers who'd gotten stuck in a trash can.
 
The burly man suddenly whipped June around and picked her up in a sleeper hold, cutting off her circulation. These people, she discovered, a little too late perphaps, were not the normal hat-tipping, court of justice policemen that June had originally thought. June could not see the man and woman pair anywhere near her, but out of the corner of her vision, spotted her comrade-not-comrade apparently doing acrobatics on the side of a building. She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. However, when she noticed him tying one part down, she suddenly realized that her comrade-not-comrade was truly her comrade. Or maybe just an over sympathetic goob.

She'd take what she could get.

Quickly, June shoved her book into the bag and sprayed the can of mace in the general direction behind her. The man let her drop, and went into a rather violent fit of pain on the ground. For just a second, she was free, and she grabbed onto the tubing like it was her life line.

She gave one last fleeting glance behind her, and found that more burly looking people clad in dark clothing had gotten out of their dark cars. They were discussing something, she saw, but could not hear. All the cars immedietly left the vicinity, speeding and tires screeching. Two people stayed back in addition to the third she'd just maced, who was currently writhing on the ground, and they both pulled out guns and opened fire.

June looked to her comrade urgently.
 
The instant June's got a good grip on the tube, Peter starts pulling her up, desperate to get moving again and get away from the gestapo. "Come on, come on, almost there," he mutters as he reels her up. Once she's close enough, he reaches down and yanks her up the rest of the way. Then he helps her to her feet and nods. "This way."

He runs across the roof and grabs the toolbox. Instead of carrying it with him, though, he tosses it over the opposite side of the building with a crash. Then he runs toward the nearest roof door, jimmying the lock before yanking it open and motioning June to get in. "Come on! They'll be after the loud smash for a few seconds. We've got to bolt while we still can."

Peter swallows as he listens to the gestapo charging after the toolbox nearby. There's no one as violent as the bloody collars, even in the Vipers - except maybe Cobra. Still, if it weren't for Cobra, Peter wouldn't even be alive. Now he's on his own for the most part, though he figures that's sort of a tough love mixed with training. He's sure Cobra would come through for him in a pinch, as would the rest of the gang.

He's only been spying on the Ravens as a double agent for a few days, but he can tell something's off about them. They're not as violent as the Vipers, for one thing. And for another, they seem friendlier. He's sure it's just a front to get the drop on spies later. And he's not going to let himself get fooled. He huffs and tugs on his leather jacket, waiting for June to catch up.
 
June reaches for him and grabs onto him with a death grip as he pulls her over. His plan was easy enough to follow: the toolbox over the side of the building was a decoy for them to bucket it in the opposite direction. She frowned as he pried open the door with a crowbar--that looked highly illegal. But she didn't quite have time to dwindle and caught up quickly as they booked it down the stairs.

As they reached the bottom of the stairwell, they bolted out of the exit door as quickly as they could, only to be met with the same two burly people that were gunning at them before. June's gaze focused, however, and she noticed that the two of them were, in fact, women. Even so, they didn't look any less lethal. Before June could think to dash, she felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against her forehead. She gulped. Fear gripped at her knees. This was the first time she'd stared death in the eye.

"You're coming with us." One said lowly. Their speech was so clear and articulate that she could decipher every word. She turned her head and saw her comrade in the same sticky situation. The two were calmly ushered back into the spot June had been held in a sleeper hold only moments ago, and the man she maced glared at her with the most venomous gaze she'd ever received. She swore everyone in the vicinity could hear her heart beating right out of her chest. All except her, of course.

They were chucked into the back seat of the car, with the two women riding in front whilst the maced man moved on ahead by foot. June looked to her comrade and gave him a low gaze, as if to say Sorry I fucked up.
 
Peter scrambles down the stairs, tennis shoes slapping against each concrete step. The door is only a few feet away. He rushes forward and yanks it open - only to meet the muzzle of a gun. Peter's blood runs cold. There's no easy way out of this one. He swallows and takes a step back, wincing as he's shoved forward out into the streets instead.

His eyes flick around desperately as he ignores June for the moment. There has to be another way out. All at once, he catches a glimpse of Cobra standing near the fence. He heaves a sigh of relief and locks eyes, waiting for Cobra to let the other Vipers know he's in trouble, waiting for them to come rescue him.

Cobra only smirks and waves. While Peter looks on in shock, the Viper walks off with his hands in his pockets, as nonchalant as ever. Peter shakes his head and tugs against the gestapo's grip. "Cobra! Cobra, wait! Come back! Help us!" he yells.

The Viper disappears. By the time Peter looks back at June, his eyes are glassy and distant, and he hangs his head. Then he's shoved into the back seat with her. He sighs and gives her a limp shrug before curling up in the corner of the seat, pressing his head against the glass. The closest thing to family he'd known is gone. And there's no way the Ravens are going to help.

He might as well spend the last of his free time getting to know the girl a little bit better, make an attempt at being friends. Maybe he'll surprise himself. "So, uh . . . you got a name?" he asks at last, voice hoarse and thick.
 
He hadn't looked in her direction when she tried to apologize. Not being able to hear meant that she could also not speak, as she had never received any oral training as a child. She had relied on either a cell phone or a notepad to communicate with hearing people most of the time, but both were seized by the women driving. It was highly unlikely that this young man knew sign language, either. She figured he wasn't particularly a talking type of person. A nifty feature of being deaf, however, is that you notice small mannerisms where hearing people lack on. What might be a nervous tick or fidget easily overseen is key to communication by a deaf person--she was fluent in body language. And when she looked at her comrade, she saw something that made her chest tighten more than was already. He looked so incredibly sad. Almost... betrayed?

Upon his lack of response, June pulled her knees up in the seat, wondering where in the fresh hell they were headed. She hadn't heard nor seen him speak to her, lost in thought as she gazed out the window. God, she was in a shit load of crap. As she thought more, however, bit by bit, she grew more bitter towards the man sitting next to her. Sure, she was the one who ran off, but him and his supposed pals were the ones that got her into this mess. These weren't even real policemen. The . . . Gestapo? If she'd remembered correctly; she read an article about them a while back, but it was only a slight skim. She wasn't aware of the true terror of these people.

When they reached their destination and the two women opened the car doors, June almost gagged. The foul stench of death wafted through her nose. It was as if the air was rotting. She staggered out, and without any words, they were led into a massive shady building, down the stairs and through a maze of hallways. Finally, they were tossed into what looked to be a holding cell. Some sort of mafia prison? June could only guess.
 
The girl doesn't respond, though it doesn't surprise Peter. If he'd just let her go in the first place, neither of them would be in this mess. He falls silent again and stares out the window, watching the familiar buildings and streets pass by for what he thinks is the last time. Peter winces and presses a hand against the glass. He's not going to cry. The underground prison is probably what he deserves anyway, and besides, he's determined to go out with a tough attitude. It's always helped him before.

Peter gags as the car door opens, almost throwing up from the deep stench. He holds his mouth and stomach as he's yanked inside, and he can't help shaking as the night sky gives way to the dimly lit hallways of the underground prison. Old fluorescent lights buzz loudly. At least, the ones that are still lit do. Everything else is shrouded in deep shadows. Peter can barely make out anyone in the cells, if they're there at all; he'd heard most prisoners don't last long.

Then he's shoved into a nearby cell. His head slams against the dirty concrete, and he grimaces and pushes himself into a sitting position as the door locks behind him. By the time he turns around and rubs his head in pain, the gestapo guards are gone. For now. Peter groans and moves into the back of the cell, curling up with his head in his hands.

He's certain the girl wants nothing to do with him. His gang is gone. All that's left to do now is wait for the gestapo to come back and decide how they're going to kill him. He hides his head in his arms and tries to ignore the stench of death around him, fighting back the lump in his throat. He did deserve it, though. It was his own fault for being a double agent and thinking he could pull it off. His fault for stopping the girl. The least he can hope for now is a quick death.
 
It took a while for it to register, but when it did, June was shaking. She had ripped out an alarming chunk of her hair, which was now laying on the dull pavement below her. Positioned in the corner of the cell opposite to her comrade-not-comrade, June sat, knees tucked up to her face as she proceeded to descend into a momentary fit of hysteria.

She was just a fucking librarian living in a normal apartment with a normal life who did normal things. Hell, the only bottle of alcohol she had ever touched with her own hands was a disinfectant. The only thing she'd seen that remotely resembled drugs was a dried up leaf of lettuce. No, no, no, this wasn't happening. This was not fucking happening. June turned around and held her stomach as she wretched into the drain behind her. There, now she lost her lunch, too. There was no telling when the next time she would be able to eat would be.

But June was damned if she'd let herself be swallowed in a pool of her own pity. She turned to the man who sat across from her--her only shot at getting out of here. Quickly wiping her mouth, she tapped the pavement in front of her comrade to gain his attention. They didn't have toilets in the cells themselves, so there must be a public bathroom outside the cell. She motioned for him to give her his hand, and she slowly drew letters on it.

B a t h r o o m.

She hoped he didn't take it as a question.

E s c a p e.

She added just for good measure.
 
Last edited:
Peter tries to ignore the sound of puking nearby. Then there's a soft tap on the floor, and he glances up from behind his arms with watering eyes. When he finds the girl looking straight at him, he sniffs and roughly wipes his tears. "Wh - what? What do you want?" he snaps. There's the motion for him to hold out his hand. At first he hesitates, narrowing his eyes and raising an eyebrow. Then he decides the girl can't do any worse than the gestapo and holds his hand out.

His eyes widen as she spells directly into his hand. She knows sign language. He hasn't seen anyone use sign language in years. Not since one of his friends from high school had passed away. Peter knows a small amount, but barely enough to function. He hopes it's enough. His hands shake as he tries to spell back into the other girl's hand, gritting his teeth in concentration. He messes up several letters as well.

<N o. N - n o . . . b a t h r o o m.

D e a t h.

G e s t a p o.>
he manages to spell out.

He shakes his head limply and buries his face in his arms again, pulling his hand away. There's no way the gestapo would let anyone out to use the bathroom. Even in an emergency. From what he's heard, the only reason anyone leaves a cell once they're in one is to die.

Still, the girl doesn't seem quite as angry now and that's more than he could have hoped for. He sinks back into silence, his brown hair masking his eyes in deep shadow.
 
It was a ditch attempt--she couldn't believe it worked. She had to sign into his hand only because it was pitch black-- no lights, meaning he wouldn't be able to read the letters if she just held them up like normal, thus they had to feel the handshapes instead. Of course, he messed up and hesitated a little bit, meaning he likely wasn't fluent and knew just the alphabet, none of the actual signs. Still, it was better than nothing.

Her moment of jubilance faltered, however, when she processed his response. When he finished, the word death hung limp in her mind. So she was right, it was the gestapo. And.. they were going to die? Is that what he wanted to tell her? June retracted her hands, pushing herself back into the corner. So that was it? She was going to fucking die because she couldn't look up from a stupid book on her way home? June refused to believe it. She absolutely refused fate. She would kick fate's nuts up into his throat if she needed to.

More urgently, June tapped at the pavement before him, and when his only response was more tears, she resorted to tapping his skull angrily and demanded his hand.

<G e t . . . y o u r . . . s h i t . . . t o g e t h e r>

She spelt firmly, looking up at him with a stern look.

Meanwhile, a storm was cooking within the Ravens. A shit storm, that is. Savvy and Thompson had sprinted their lives back to headquarters and when Pierre did not return, they wasted no time in telling the news. Pierre. Gestapo. Captured. They made a fleeting mention of a small, speedy girl who was captured with them. And with that, the leader of the Ravens, seething with fury and passion, set out with half the gang.

"Get ready for a full blown decampment tonight, kids!" He had yelled, slamming the table as their mastermind viciously wrote out a game plan.
 
Peter winces and then blinks as June taps on his head. He glances up a second time, and slowly starts to crack a smile as the tears dry on his cheeks. He'd been right about the girl after all. She would've made a great Raven, what with the amount of spirit she had. He's sure she has no idea what the Gestapo are though, or she'd realize the situation they're in is hopeless.

But he might as well humor her. He shakes his head good naturedly and heaves a deep sigh. Then he takes her hand and spells back into it.

G o o d . . . s a y i n g . . . f o r . . . a . . . p l a c e . . . l i k e . . . t h i s.

It was an attempt at a joke. A poor attempt, at that. But for a few fleeting moments, he felt like he was back in the Ravens, cracking jokes with the other gangsters and flinging sarcastic insults. That never happened in the Vipers, or even his own home. If the insults were spoken in either of those places, they were meant seriously.

Peter slides back against the wall and listens to the distant hum of the fluorescent lights with a glassy gaze. The hallways are eerily silent. Peter and June aren't even that deep underground, but if they're left to starve, Peter can already see himself going insane. There isn't much to look at besides dim lights, concrete, and bars, and even those are hard to see.
 
June gave out a slight laugh as he replied. It was the first time she had used her vocal chords in front of him, so even she was a little taken aback by herself. She had never heard the sound of her own voice, and when she was little, she had tried to speak, to mimick the odd shapes that her family would make. It was only until she grew into teenage-hood that she realized the sounds that came out of her mouth were not correct, different somehow.

June shook her head, lost in thought. No, she needed to be figuring out a way to get out, and then a plan to flee once she did.

But the Gestapo were ruthless in their cruelty, and left no gaps for any rebellion. Yes, they were not known as the bloody collars for nothing. June had ended up passing out before she could finish scowering the entire jail cell, curling up into a ball in the corner of the cell that wasn't directly hit by the cold air that pumped through the jail. If they could afford such strong air conditioning, couldn't they afford beds? Or maybe toilets? Meals?

Her sleep was a restless one, and understandably so. She had woken up to find her comrade fast asleep. For a moment, she wondered how long he had been awake the night before.

The Ravens' plan was simple and precise. Have the burliest of them knock out the watch dog whilst a nimble Raven slips through to the camera room, chlorofoams the guard, and sneaks back two extra uniforms. One for Octavious and one for Savvy-- as the two were the best bullshitters in the gang. Because they still didn't exactly know how everything worked in the Gestapo prison, the infiltrators would have to have insane amounts of confidence and acting ability. The first priority was to get Pierre and the girl safe. Then, if they were able to, free the rest of the prisoners. Even if they were a member of a rival gang, a Viper, no one should be subject to such inhumane conditions.

Octavious and Savvy, upon receiving the uniforms, were to waltz in and scoop up the pair, acting as if they were going to execute them. If they put up too much of a fight, they could give them a little hint that it was really them. Then, the Raven in the camera room would guide them to the nearest exit safely, acting as a navigator in order to avoid bumping into any other actual guards (with the help of a Bluetooth headset).
 
Peter's surprised by how gentle the girl's voice is. He watches her with curiosity as she travels the length of the cell room, though he's sure she's not going to find anything. Of course, if the gestapo do choose to starve them out, there might be a flicker of hope for escaping. Peter can't help but glance around the room for supplies. There isn't much. There are the shoes on the pairs' feet, the clothes on their backs, and themselves.

He decides to not give it too much thought until the gestapo decide on a death sentence. There's no way he and the girl can think of a plan within the next night. He blinks and glances back over as he realizes he doesn't even know his acquaintance'a name, but by the time he looks over, she's asleep and curled up in the corner.

Peter huffs and bites his lower lip. The cell's already cold, and the girl is wearing less than he is. He cautiously scoots his way forward, watching to make sure the girl doesn't wake up. Then he quietly slips off his leather jacket and wraps it around her. Maybe it'll help a little.

Most of the night is spent keeping a futile watch over the girl. Peter knows there's no way he'll be able to take on a bloody collar. Still, he can't help but protect the innocent he'd gotten mixed up in this mess. At the very least, he owes her the best fight he can put up. He straightens his shoulders and starts pacing the cell.

Of course, it doesn't take long for exhaustion to set in. His steps grow gradually slower and slower. After a while, he doesn't notice the cold air anymore, though he's still shivering. He yawns and rubs his eyes as he does his best to stay awake. A few moments later, he stumbles into a corner and crashes into a heap. When June finds him the next morning, it's in a disorganized pile of arms and messy hair, snoring loudly.
 
As June awoke from her spot in the cell, the reality of what had happened hit her suddenly and very violently, accompanied with a pounding headache. She supposed hard pavement wasn't very good for the skull. A leather jacked slipped off her body as she rose, to which her response was confusion. Was it her comrade's? She shook her head. Oh, that precious idiot. His generosity was baffling. He didn't have to attempt to save her the previous night--or even speak with her for that matter. She wouldn't put blame on either of them, not even the apparent-criminal-pair that had been chasing her. That wouldn't get anyone anywhere further than a heated argument with no real conclusion.

She sighed and gently put his jacket back on his own body. He stirred when she did so, which surprised June. It needed 10 alarm clocks and an army of one hundred men to wake her from her slumber, and he had risen from just a pair of gentle arms. Before either of them could greet each other, the doors of the cell suddenly swung open with a deafening din. A tall, burly man and a lanky woman both clad in Gestapo uniform stepped inside.

"That the girl?" The man whispered lowly. The woman nodded. The two stepped forward and motioned for the two to stand. June obeyed, followed by her comrade.

"Death sentence." The man said simply. June was too concentrated on the open door to successfully lipread. She waved her hand behind her back to catch her comrade's attention and promptly finger-spelled < R u n >. As the woman went to tie the both of their hands, June suddenly jumped and made a dash for the door. It was, however, futile, as the burly man had snatched her, holding her back by her arms. He showed no visible emotion as she thrashed, kicking and trying to free her arms. The woman, meanwhile, tied up her comrade's hands. When June had tired herself out, she did the same.

June was surprised. Not because she was caught, but because of the guard's mild grip in comparison to last night's guard, who had legitimately choked her. It was almost as if he wasn't trying to hurt her. She followed them out, even so. For all she knew, they could be headed to the bathroom. e
 
For all his heavy sleeping, Peter is easy to wake up. He's been accustomed to it. After such a violent household and then life on the streets between two gangs, waking up late can mean not waking up at all. He can't help but give a small smile as he finds June placing his jacket back on him.

Then the cell door slams open. Peter jumps and stumbles backward, eyes wide as he instinctively moves an arm in front of June. A cold chill runs down his spine as the sentence is named. He'd been expecting it, but to hear the words spoken so calmly somehow makes it worse.

Peter bolts the instant June tells him to. But when he hears her get caught, he skids to a stop and whips around to help. It's a fatal mistake. The other gestapo grabs him and yanks him back, tying his hands together behind him. "Mmrph - let go! Let go of me, frickin' bloody collar!" he yells. He thrashes back and forth and desperately tries to slow the woman down by dragging his feet and kicking. Nothing helps.

His breath catches in his throat as he's dragged out beside June. "I'm so sorry," he mouths silently once he catches her gaze. He'd never even caught the girl's name. But it didn't matter now. He hangs his head and falls limp in the guard's grasp, shaking and trying to bite back tears as he waits to see exactly what kind of death sentence they have in mind.