AN: Before you read this, I must admit to something: this fanfic is pure self gratification, and I will not pretend otherwise. I'm writing this because, at the moment, my Jedi Consular can't get into Zenith's pants. I need an outlet for all these fangirly hormones, so here you go! A passably written story about Zenith and a girl.
Though now that I've put 99% of the people reading this off, she's not going to be SUPER KAWAII JEDI SUGARPLUM FAERIE, AKA The Worst Mary Sue Ever. I can at least promise you that much.
And now, on to the story!
This is completely un-betad and straight from the strange recesses of my brain. I own nothing except Magdelena.
There had never yet been a day Magdalena had been so glad to leave behind as this one. It had gone from a busy day to a bad one like that. There had been two euthanasias that day – one had been an emergency call in, the cat had been hit by a car, and on presentation, she had informed the owners that it would not survive the night. The traumatised woman had held her cat as it relaxed into sleep and passed away. The second had been an aging cancer patient who had reached the end of its dignified and long life.
And now all she needed was to get home and sit down and cuddle her own cats and just cry, because a vet crying during a consultation was just not done. They had to be the strong, clinical one, with enough compassion on their faces to ease the pain of their clients and ensure that they knew this was the last choice a vet ever wanted to make, but it was the only one.
Magdalena scrubbed at her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced the sorrows of the day into the back of her head through sheer strength of will. She would not cry until she got home. She'd go all blotchy and snotty and people would look at her funny.
She loved her job, she really did. She got to work with fantastic people, doing what she loved, and there was no greater feeling than discharging a patient who had been really touch-and-go for a while.
But losing them was hard. She hoped, in a quiet recess of her brain, that it always would be. It proved to herself that she cared enough to put her all into keeping them alive.
And at least the clinic was close enough that she could walk home each evening! The evening itself was pleasant. The skies purpled about the setting sun, and a brisk southerly wind heralded the onset of winter. She huddled further into her coat as the wind tugged at her legs.
Magdalena heard the slap of feet on the footpath behind her seconds before she was slammed into the concrete. Her hands came up to protect her face, her elbows eating the worst of the fall. She howled and rolled, curling her arms into herself in a futile attempt to ease the pain. She was still partially covered by this odd weight, and it took her a few more moments to realise someone was rummaging through her coat pockets! She bucked and brought a knee up, he – it sounded like a male – grunted in pain and the weight lifted briefly.
A knife caught the last rays of the sun as the shadow brought it down. She didn't even have time to scream. Just pain, flaming agony, then sweet black.
Even through the fog Magdalena could feel it. The knife had gone through her abdomen, just above her tenth rib and on the left. Her elbows were, at best, badly bruised and scraped, at worst, broken. Her head thrummed. She had to apply pressure, but her fingers wouldn't respond, and everything felt like cotton candy.
There was a whuffling sound to her right. Alarmed, her body decided to wake up properly, and her eyes creaked open. Her hands moved to cover her wound and suddenly it was on fire again. She hissed, and felt a chill run down her spine at the responding hiss. She creaked her head to the right, mouth agape in a wordless scream at the monstrously large creature peering at her. Its lizard-like face was deformed by two huge tusks jutting up from its lower jaw.
One thing's for sure, her brain supplied, that thing ain't a herbivore. It sniffed her, cautious, as if it had never seen something quite like her before. But on scenting the blood pooling through her fingers, it jerked forwards. Smells like food, she thought. She moved her right hand, carefully, up to her chest. Its nose looked soft, and with its dependence on scent, it would likely have a high number of nerve endings there. The lizard thing was going to get a surprise before it got a chomp.
It was eager to get on with its meal, opening its maw in anticipation, rows of manky browned teeth on display. It was terrible how her brain immediately began to figure out the best process for tartar removal as her fist clenched up, ready to smack its face.
She never got the chance. Just as it raised its head to strike, a shot rang out and its head exploded. Globules of lizard brains and bits hit her face, causing her to blink and jerk backwards into the earth. The body teetered for a moment, before crashing onto her legs. Bile rose in her throat, but the pain in her side shrieked when she tried to roll over. She ended up turning her head and vomiting, tears screaming down her face as her body wholeheartedly protested at the torment of contracting with a knife-wound in her side.
"Oh god," she murmured, watching through her tears as a pair of boots clunked up to her. "Please..." She did not finish her sentence. The blessed dark rose and claimed her.
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