Iron
folder
Paranormal/Supernatural › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
850
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
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Category:
Paranormal/Supernatural › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
14
Views:
850
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Scrap--Soviet Russia
"Een Soviet Russia, ve not 'ave syuch tings; I vill af to oyrder syuch tings. No voman een muy fameelee shyould be vithout deese 'bra'. Very comfy, made for boobs. I ah-proov."
She plays back the silly message lingering in her phone again, listening to the horrendously fake accent clogging the ridiculous words.
"Muy baybies 'ave gootten veyrey faht. Good, faht babies. Last throo vinter. Bears no eat dem; too faht."
There's a choked laugh, then 3.7 seconds of silence (she knows--she counted). Pressing against the grungy station corner, she waits, holding her breath.
"...God, please, come back. Just come back. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Please..."
She clenches her eyes shut as her name rolls out, distorted by connection and tinny speakers.
"Come back."
"Message ended. To delete this message, press seven. To save this message in the archives, press nine now--"
"Thank you. This message will be saved for another twenty-one days."
Wiping her eyes, she barely notices the red-line pulling into the station. Racing through the other commuters, she leaps into the last car just as the doors start to shut. Leaning against the plexiglas shield, she watches the grimy tunnels blur past.
Her phone rings; unknown caller. Liz lets it run to voice-mail and wonders what her ex would think if she knew they were in the same damn city on the same damn train.
AN: Written 08.06.25
So San and I had a ten minute conversation earlier in fake-fake Russian accents and this popped out. So in short, blame San. *cheeky grin*
She plays back the silly message lingering in her phone again, listening to the horrendously fake accent clogging the ridiculous words.
"Muy baybies 'ave gootten veyrey faht. Good, faht babies. Last throo vinter. Bears no eat dem; too faht."
There's a choked laugh, then 3.7 seconds of silence (she knows--she counted). Pressing against the grungy station corner, she waits, holding her breath.
"...God, please, come back. Just come back. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Please..."
She clenches her eyes shut as her name rolls out, distorted by connection and tinny speakers.
"Come back."
"Message ended. To delete this message, press seven. To save this message in the archives, press nine now--"
"Thank you. This message will be saved for another twenty-one days."
Wiping her eyes, she barely notices the red-line pulling into the station. Racing through the other commuters, she leaps into the last car just as the doors start to shut. Leaning against the plexiglas shield, she watches the grimy tunnels blur past.
Her phone rings; unknown caller. Liz lets it run to voice-mail and wonders what her ex would think if she knew they were in the same damn city on the same damn train.
AN: Written 08.06.25
So San and I had a ten minute conversation earlier in fake-fake Russian accents and this popped out. So in short, blame San. *cheeky grin*