( Somewhere on the astral plane of Snape Wives, Viktor and Jack are sharing a handshake over having too many experiences being dumped into water by supernatural forces. Getting to experience nearly drowning isn't any more fun the second or third time either, frankly, and this one actually goes a little worse than the first one had.
He didn't have a prosthetic leg that first time. He's never been a particularly strong swimmer even before the replacement, and he hasn't bothered trying ever since. That is very quickly proving to be a mistake, because his half-a-lungful of air is running out, and the light is getting farther away, and his panicked flailing is lost among the half-dozen other panicked flailing shapes in the water around them.
And his vision is starting to vignette.
But he isn't alone here. He has a guardian — thankfully, one with a little bit more horsepower than Viktor's attempted savior. From beneath the sopping-wet confines of his conjured hoodie, a thoroughly drenched Rita worms her way out into open ocean, flailing and spitting and hissing into the water, tugging at him with little paws ineffectually.
There's a whompf of displaced water, and suddenly, Rita isn't so small anymore. A massive shape with stretching wings larger than Clydesdale cuts through the water, and Jack's hands find the fur around her neck, clinging on, wrapping his legs around her as best he can like he's Daenerys Motherfucking Targaryen.
Jack isn't the only person Rita loves in this small vicinity. She hasn't been leaving eggs in Kyle's bedsheets for two years for no reason; those massive wings flap, sending a jet stream behind her, propelling her like a torpedo as she ducks beneath Kyle and his partner — and then she begins to rise, carrying all three of them up, up, up until they finally breach the surface to the tune of heavy, beating wings. )
no subject
He didn't have a prosthetic leg that first time. He's never been a particularly strong swimmer even before the replacement, and he hasn't bothered trying ever since. That is very quickly proving to be a mistake, because his half-a-lungful of air is running out, and the light is getting farther away, and his panicked flailing is lost among the half-dozen other panicked flailing shapes in the water around them.
And his vision is starting to vignette.
But he isn't alone here. He has a guardian — thankfully, one with a little bit more horsepower than Viktor's attempted savior. From beneath the sopping-wet confines of his conjured hoodie, a thoroughly drenched Rita worms her way out into open ocean, flailing and spitting and hissing into the water, tugging at him with little paws ineffectually.
There's a whompf of displaced water, and suddenly, Rita isn't so small anymore. A massive shape with stretching wings larger than Clydesdale cuts through the water, and Jack's hands find the fur around her neck, clinging on, wrapping his legs around her as best he can like he's Daenerys Motherfucking Targaryen.
Jack isn't the only person Rita loves in this small vicinity. She hasn't been leaving eggs in Kyle's bedsheets for two years for no reason; those massive wings flap, sending a jet stream behind her, propelling her like a torpedo as she ducks beneath Kyle and his partner — and then she begins to rise, carrying all three of them up, up, up until they finally breach the surface to the tune of heavy, beating wings. )