redfiona99 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
redfiona99) wrote2010-01-10 02:33 pm
redfiona99) wrote2010-01-10 02:33 pm
Entry tags:
Fic - From The Ashes Of Disaster (2/?)
Author: Red Fiona
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Spyglass Entertainment do. No money being made.
Pairing: Quinn/Creedy, eventually. Some Creedy/OFC in the first part.
Rating: M, especially later on.
Spoilers: None. Prequel to ‘He Who Fights Too Long Against Dragons’ - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/471485.html.
Summary: In the ruins of Britain, humans still try to eke out a living where the dragons cannot find them. A band of roving bikers arrive in the remnants of Birmingham, both sides have to try to reach an agreement.
Part 1 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/589916.html
The answer had been very hard. The gear they were pulling to plough the fields must have been designed for horses originally, or something that size, because it was too big and heavy for them and they weren’t small men. They put up with it though, and worked around the problems because they were going to get better bikes out of this.
Deacon was starting to get itchy feet. No wonder, this was the longest that any of them had spent in one place for three years. Well, it was three years in Creedy’s case, it could have been longer for the others, some of them had been hardened bikers before the dragons came. It was either that, or Deacon just didn’t like kids.
Deacon certainly didn’t like the runt. Creedy had noticed that Quinn had finally started growing but that only meant he’d gone from short and skinny to tall and skinnier. He seemed to be the Professor’s pet project; Quinn always followed the Professor about, or was being told to follow him. To Creedy’s eyes this was suspicious. It didn’t look like they were related; the Prof had strawberry blond hair going grey while Quinn was dark. They spent far too much time together and, while no-one in Birmingham said anything, Creedy had heard stories in other places, especially with the rule of law mostly gone. The Prof obviously provided a service and these people wouldn’t have been the first to turn a blind eye in the name of convenience.
You couldn’t just say things like that though; you needed proof so Creedy tried to get to know Quinn, to protect him as much as anything. It was easily enough done. After Deacon forbade Quinn from working on any of the bikes, Creedy telling Quinn that he could work on his bike moved Creedy onto the best thing ever list.
Deacon was missing out; Quinn knew what he was doing. After switching the engine over, he started overhauling the whole bike. Quinn had a bike schematic, and he was drawing a new one with the details of the Creedy’s bike, with notes about where it was different from the theoretical bike on the blueprints. It was a work of art, detailed and exact.
Quinn was always thirsty for knowledge, asking for information about Creedy’s past, about Glasgow, everything.
“You must know something about stuff.” Quinn had exhausted Creedy’s rather meagre maths and science knowledge. “There must have been something you were interested in.” It had been things like tv and films and football. There was no Ibrox anymore and he couldn’t take Quinn there, no way he could explain how good Archie Gemill’s goal had been and why it mattered so much that a Scot had scored the goal generally considered to be the best World Cup goal ever.
Quinn was still looking for information. “What did you want to do when you grew up? As a job I mean.”
“I dunno.” Creedy really didn’t, he’d been fourteen when the dragons came, he’d been revising for his Sats. He’d known what he didn’t want to be, a policeman or a doctor, and what he couldn’t be, a footballer, but beyond that, nothing certain. Quinn didn’t look impressed with his answer but he never was. “I bet you were one of them clever clogs who had everything planned. What did you want to be?”
“A geologist like my mother.” It was the first time Quinn had mentioned his family. “It always looked really exciting. Rocks are so interesting, don’t you think.” Creedy murmured. He’d never noticed anything interesting about them. “They’re history and science combined and you can tell so much about an area from them, what’ll grow, will it be good for people to live on, all kinds. Now that I’m getting lessons I quite like engineering too, but I’ve still got a soft spot for rocks.”
That was how the days went, Creedy would go and work in the fields, come back, watch Quinn tinked with the bike for a bit, go to sleep. Over and over. One of the first breaks to the routine was at the end of main planting. There were still a few things that need late planting, and what had been planted would need tending to, but the worst was over until harvesting. To celebrate there was going to be a party. Everyone was invited to the big meal and there was a rumour going round that certain illicit grog may be being opened especially for the occasion.
The rumour had been true and under the influence of several cups of the stuff (origin unknown, vintage uncertain, proof high) Creedy had followed Rebecca down the garden path and the two of them had enjoyed themselves. He got so caught up in Rebecca, her full breasts, creamy white softness in tight jeans and the way her hair curled round her forehead, that he stopped visiting Quinn.
Quinn had got used to Creedy being around and was narked that he wasn’t coming around anymore. Quinn had always known that Creedy wasn’t really checking up on his work, not after the first week or so, and while he still didn’t know exactly what Creedy had been after, a friend maybe since he seemed to be closer to Quinn’s age that to the rest of the bikers, Quinn was reasonably sure that he hadn’t said or done anything to drive Creedy away.
He knew where Creedy was spending his time, of course, but he couldn’t see what Rebecca had that was quite so fantastic. He knew what they were doing; he’d had the official talk from the Prof and the less official question and answer session from Paul Simeon but you couldn’t do that all the time and it wasn’t like Rebecca was better company than Quinn.
Quinn was tempted to do something to Creedy’s motorbike, to teach him a lesson, but he didn’t think that was fair on the bike. It wasn’t the bike’s fault that Creedy had some bizarre attachment to some silly woman, all pushed up, squeezed in and plucked. It made no sense.
The remaining months till the harvest passed quickly for Creedy. The settlers had driven a clever bargain, because the six months kept the bikers for both the sewing and the reaping. The harvesting was especially hard work, even with the alcohol-fuel converted combine harvesters. There’d been another party, along with it nearly being his and Rebecca’s three month anniversary. They were supposed to be leaving soon, him, Deacon, Trevor and the rest. Then it was his eighteenth birthday so they waited for that. Creedy considered begging Deacon to stay until spring, he’d spent enough winters travelling to realise that it was much nicer staying in houses than in patched-up tents, but he could see them wanting to take off. Creedy was torn – on the one hand, he’d not known anything but the bike and travelling since the dragons came, on the other, he had a good thing going on here - Rebecca, constant food and not having to worry if the engine would hold out until they found somewhere to sleep and eat. He’d found companionship on the road, but he’d found something better here.
It was the Professor and Quinn that made up his mind. He’d seen them after “school” pitched out. Quinn had stayed behind and they seemed to be plotting how they were going to make the Birmingham settlement even better. That was what this place had; it had a future to it that life on the road really didn’t have in the long-term.
He told Deacon and the rest of the gang, especially Trevor, that he was staying. As expected Trevor had tried to get him to change his mind, and of course, Creedy tried to get them to change theirs, this would be an easier life, but everyone had already decided what they’d rather do. A couple of the Birmingham lads wanted to go with the bikers, but Deacon wasn’t having any of it. He left the bike with Creedy in case he changed his mind, which Creedy was glad of, even if he didn’t think he would, but demanded a couple of spare tanks of alcohol in exchange for Creedy. At least Creedy knew exactly how much he was worth.
Creedy watched sadly as they drove off, but he had hopes for his future and his life with Rebecca.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Spyglass Entertainment do. No money being made.
Pairing: Quinn/Creedy, eventually. Some Creedy/OFC in the first part.
Rating: M, especially later on.
Spoilers: None. Prequel to ‘He Who Fights Too Long Against Dragons’ - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/471485.html.
Summary: In the ruins of Britain, humans still try to eke out a living where the dragons cannot find them. A band of roving bikers arrive in the remnants of Birmingham, both sides have to try to reach an agreement.
Part 1 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/589916.html
The answer had been very hard. The gear they were pulling to plough the fields must have been designed for horses originally, or something that size, because it was too big and heavy for them and they weren’t small men. They put up with it though, and worked around the problems because they were going to get better bikes out of this.
Deacon was starting to get itchy feet. No wonder, this was the longest that any of them had spent in one place for three years. Well, it was three years in Creedy’s case, it could have been longer for the others, some of them had been hardened bikers before the dragons came. It was either that, or Deacon just didn’t like kids.
Deacon certainly didn’t like the runt. Creedy had noticed that Quinn had finally started growing but that only meant he’d gone from short and skinny to tall and skinnier. He seemed to be the Professor’s pet project; Quinn always followed the Professor about, or was being told to follow him. To Creedy’s eyes this was suspicious. It didn’t look like they were related; the Prof had strawberry blond hair going grey while Quinn was dark. They spent far too much time together and, while no-one in Birmingham said anything, Creedy had heard stories in other places, especially with the rule of law mostly gone. The Prof obviously provided a service and these people wouldn’t have been the first to turn a blind eye in the name of convenience.
You couldn’t just say things like that though; you needed proof so Creedy tried to get to know Quinn, to protect him as much as anything. It was easily enough done. After Deacon forbade Quinn from working on any of the bikes, Creedy telling Quinn that he could work on his bike moved Creedy onto the best thing ever list.
Deacon was missing out; Quinn knew what he was doing. After switching the engine over, he started overhauling the whole bike. Quinn had a bike schematic, and he was drawing a new one with the details of the Creedy’s bike, with notes about where it was different from the theoretical bike on the blueprints. It was a work of art, detailed and exact.
Quinn was always thirsty for knowledge, asking for information about Creedy’s past, about Glasgow, everything.
“You must know something about stuff.” Quinn had exhausted Creedy’s rather meagre maths and science knowledge. “There must have been something you were interested in.” It had been things like tv and films and football. There was no Ibrox anymore and he couldn’t take Quinn there, no way he could explain how good Archie Gemill’s goal had been and why it mattered so much that a Scot had scored the goal generally considered to be the best World Cup goal ever.
Quinn was still looking for information. “What did you want to do when you grew up? As a job I mean.”
“I dunno.” Creedy really didn’t, he’d been fourteen when the dragons came, he’d been revising for his Sats. He’d known what he didn’t want to be, a policeman or a doctor, and what he couldn’t be, a footballer, but beyond that, nothing certain. Quinn didn’t look impressed with his answer but he never was. “I bet you were one of them clever clogs who had everything planned. What did you want to be?”
“A geologist like my mother.” It was the first time Quinn had mentioned his family. “It always looked really exciting. Rocks are so interesting, don’t you think.” Creedy murmured. He’d never noticed anything interesting about them. “They’re history and science combined and you can tell so much about an area from them, what’ll grow, will it be good for people to live on, all kinds. Now that I’m getting lessons I quite like engineering too, but I’ve still got a soft spot for rocks.”
That was how the days went, Creedy would go and work in the fields, come back, watch Quinn tinked with the bike for a bit, go to sleep. Over and over. One of the first breaks to the routine was at the end of main planting. There were still a few things that need late planting, and what had been planted would need tending to, but the worst was over until harvesting. To celebrate there was going to be a party. Everyone was invited to the big meal and there was a rumour going round that certain illicit grog may be being opened especially for the occasion.
The rumour had been true and under the influence of several cups of the stuff (origin unknown, vintage uncertain, proof high) Creedy had followed Rebecca down the garden path and the two of them had enjoyed themselves. He got so caught up in Rebecca, her full breasts, creamy white softness in tight jeans and the way her hair curled round her forehead, that he stopped visiting Quinn.
Quinn had got used to Creedy being around and was narked that he wasn’t coming around anymore. Quinn had always known that Creedy wasn’t really checking up on his work, not after the first week or so, and while he still didn’t know exactly what Creedy had been after, a friend maybe since he seemed to be closer to Quinn’s age that to the rest of the bikers, Quinn was reasonably sure that he hadn’t said or done anything to drive Creedy away.
He knew where Creedy was spending his time, of course, but he couldn’t see what Rebecca had that was quite so fantastic. He knew what they were doing; he’d had the official talk from the Prof and the less official question and answer session from Paul Simeon but you couldn’t do that all the time and it wasn’t like Rebecca was better company than Quinn.
Quinn was tempted to do something to Creedy’s motorbike, to teach him a lesson, but he didn’t think that was fair on the bike. It wasn’t the bike’s fault that Creedy had some bizarre attachment to some silly woman, all pushed up, squeezed in and plucked. It made no sense.
The remaining months till the harvest passed quickly for Creedy. The settlers had driven a clever bargain, because the six months kept the bikers for both the sewing and the reaping. The harvesting was especially hard work, even with the alcohol-fuel converted combine harvesters. There’d been another party, along with it nearly being his and Rebecca’s three month anniversary. They were supposed to be leaving soon, him, Deacon, Trevor and the rest. Then it was his eighteenth birthday so they waited for that. Creedy considered begging Deacon to stay until spring, he’d spent enough winters travelling to realise that it was much nicer staying in houses than in patched-up tents, but he could see them wanting to take off. Creedy was torn – on the one hand, he’d not known anything but the bike and travelling since the dragons came, on the other, he had a good thing going on here - Rebecca, constant food and not having to worry if the engine would hold out until they found somewhere to sleep and eat. He’d found companionship on the road, but he’d found something better here.
It was the Professor and Quinn that made up his mind. He’d seen them after “school” pitched out. Quinn had stayed behind and they seemed to be plotting how they were going to make the Birmingham settlement even better. That was what this place had; it had a future to it that life on the road really didn’t have in the long-term.
He told Deacon and the rest of the gang, especially Trevor, that he was staying. As expected Trevor had tried to get him to change his mind, and of course, Creedy tried to get them to change theirs, this would be an easier life, but everyone had already decided what they’d rather do. A couple of the Birmingham lads wanted to go with the bikers, but Deacon wasn’t having any of it. He left the bike with Creedy in case he changed his mind, which Creedy was glad of, even if he didn’t think he would, but demanded a couple of spare tanks of alcohol in exchange for Creedy. At least Creedy knew exactly how much he was worth.
Creedy watched sadly as they drove off, but he had hopes for his future and his life with Rebecca.