Very short beginning to my Sister's Grimm fanfiction. Found this while sorting through my folders, and rekindled my obsession.
NOTE: YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND ANYTHING WORTH A DARN IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE BOOKS UP TO BOOK 7. Set in the battle of book 7, when Puck and Sabrina are up on the water tower thingy. What happens right now is what actually happens in the book, but yeah. It changes. Don't remember what a lot of stuff is here; i don't have the book with me. :D
For those of you who ask (sighs) yes, there will be Puckabrina. But not mushy crap. You want that, you go to Morning Sun. Enjoy.
"Daphne!" Sabrina cried, looking wildly around from the top of her post at the water tower. Puck was trying helplessly to make it shoot again, even though it would never work. The tower was completely empty of water. "Daphne!"
She couldn't see a thing. Smoke and debris filled the air, and even if her sister could hear her, it was doubtful Sabrina could be able to make out an answering cry. Shouts and screams of fury and agony filled the air. And yet, she had to know if her sister was all right. Daphne meant the world to her; she hadn't raised her sister for her to be killed now.
"Will you shut up and help me?" Puck said angrily, banging the spout with his wooden sword.
"It's useless! I told you that a few minutes ago! The tower's out of water!" she yelled back. He was such an idiot sometimes!
"It's your fault, then!"
"MY fault?" She rounded on him, seething. How could he accuse her of making it run out? "How exactly is it my fault?"
"You sprayed too much when it was your turn," Puck snapped. "And now the army will be able to come in."
"I sprayed down at least two hundred of their troops! That's bound to be beneficial to our side," Sabrina argued. It was true. She had.
Puck stuck his tongue out at her and went back to banging the swiveling spout. He began jerking it around angrily. Sabrina realized what was going to happen a second before it did. "Puck, wait, stop swinging it—"
He swung the huge spout around hard and it slammed into her chest, propelling her backwards, right off the edge of the hundred-foot-high tower.