[The world is dark and cold. Painful, the way his chest has constricted and he's sure that he's swallowed water, but his head is above the surface, and desperate survival keeps him there even at the shock of arms around his middle from behind. He keeps twisting, flailing, can't help it — but the voice in his ear has enough power to momentarily cut through sheer, hard-edged panic. Nikolai.
Then they're under again, and it doesn't matter. This time he does get a whole mouthful of water sucked down, until everything is subsumed by the blackness and he suspects this is how he's going to die. Not a bullet in the stomach; not rotting in a prison cell. It's strange, because he's never feared water before. Never had a chance to. Never imagined it could be something like this.
His hand is pried open, knife taken away, and he's shoved back up. Inelegant thrashing manages to get him to the shore, or close enough that his boots find gravel, and Cain collapses heaving onto the bank. He spits up water, shaking and sick. It takes a few moments to realize he's alone.]
Shit. [Cain looks over the pool wildly — ripples beginning to calm to glassy stillness.] Shit, shit, shit, shit... you idiot...
[He could leave him. It would satisfy the requirements of the mission. But they haven't found the orb, and Nikolai — was nice to him. He's a king, somewhere, to someone. That's more than Cain will ever be, more than his life is worth. He thought he could do this, yet even with panic seized around his heart, a leaden rock in his chest, he doesn't think he can. Cain paces the shore, kicking rocks into the water as precious seconds slip past, agonizing in this indecisive turmoil. He can't even swim, so how is he supposed to help? Or maybe it doesn't even matter. Maybe he just needs to be the distraction.
Cain wades back in, waist-deep, screaming to the beast below.]
Hey, asshole! Up here! [Kicking more, churning up frothy black water, eyes scouring for a sign of Nikolai in the depths that he might be able to reach.] You want me? Come get me, you little fucker!
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Then they're under again, and it doesn't matter. This time he does get a whole mouthful of water sucked down, until everything is subsumed by the blackness and he suspects this is how he's going to die. Not a bullet in the stomach; not rotting in a prison cell. It's strange, because he's never feared water before. Never had a chance to. Never imagined it could be something like this.
His hand is pried open, knife taken away, and he's shoved back up. Inelegant thrashing manages to get him to the shore, or close enough that his boots find gravel, and Cain collapses heaving onto the bank. He spits up water, shaking and sick. It takes a few moments to realize he's alone.]
Shit. [Cain looks over the pool wildly — ripples beginning to calm to glassy stillness.] Shit, shit, shit, shit... you idiot...
[He could leave him. It would satisfy the requirements of the mission. But they haven't found the orb, and Nikolai — was nice to him. He's a king, somewhere, to someone. That's more than Cain will ever be, more than his life is worth. He thought he could do this, yet even with panic seized around his heart, a leaden rock in his chest, he doesn't think he can. Cain paces the shore, kicking rocks into the water as precious seconds slip past, agonizing in this indecisive turmoil. He can't even swim, so how is he supposed to help? Or maybe it doesn't even matter. Maybe he just needs to be the distraction.
Cain wades back in, waist-deep, screaming to the beast below.]
Hey, asshole! Up here! [Kicking more, churning up frothy black water, eyes scouring for a sign of Nikolai in the depths that he might be able to reach.] You want me? Come get me, you little fucker!