( Hissed back to Kol, and so: the humming doesn't stop. Even when it feels like the air is harder to breathe, she keeps humming. It's at odds with how she's moving, hyper-vigilant with feral caution - surely being silent would make more sense? And yet, she keeps humming.
Even when they hear the message and she starts repeating the coordinates back to herself to memorise them, it's to that melody, and once she has repeated it over enough to feel like she might have a decent shot of recalling it, she adds more information in: ) Four five point seven one seven six four three, minus eight six point six six seven eight oh two. Four five point seven one seven six four three, minus eight six point six six seven eight oh two. Four five point seven one seven six four three, minus eight six point six six seven eight oh two. Hobaugh, thirty-four, Solis. Four five--
( She keeps going, even as she takes in that monster on the horizon, keeps listening, sees the nooses fall. )
Hobaugh, thirty-four, Solis.
( Softly, and finally, she's silent. There's a rage in her that starts to simmer, the kind of rage she knows in herself to be dangerous and destructive, the anger that has pushed her to survive and has pushed her to be ready to tear herself apart. Anger is less incapacitating than fear; she can use it for something. Some of it she knows isn't her. It's the dream, these strange memories or history or whatever the fuck it is that they're observing.
When she speaks, her voice is flat. )
Kinda poetic, ain't it? We emerged from a tunnel all covered in blood, like some fucked up metaphor for birth, and now we're being faced death.
( Sarissa spins the table leg in her hand. It's not too hefty that her father wouldn't have used it, on a bad day. She remembers a lot of those beatings. Maybe not all, when they were so frequent that they bled together, and when sometimes they left her near unconscious, but she can remember enough. Those days she still fought to survive, and that's the feeling this is giving her, that desperate, hungry need to survive. These days she kept going more out of sheer spite and stubbornness, and as they stand and the monster continues on, she feels really bloody tired. That defiance is burning in her, and she knows it isn't hers, and she so desperately wants it to just stop. For one fucking minute just stop, because in this place even animals hadn't been okay, they'd been shoved in that dark, crowded space and left to rot.
Moving closer to the railing, Sarissa smiles, though there's nothing pleasant in it. Exhaustion and bitterness, maybe. )
cw suicide ideation, depression, ref to past abuse, dead animals.
( Hissed back to Kol, and so: the humming doesn't stop. Even when it feels like the air is harder to breathe, she keeps humming. It's at odds with how she's moving, hyper-vigilant with feral caution - surely being silent would make more sense? And yet, she keeps humming.
Even when they hear the message and she starts repeating the coordinates back to herself to memorise them, it's to that melody, and once she has repeated it over enough to feel like she might have a decent shot of recalling it, she adds more information in: ) Four five point seven one seven six four three, minus eight six point six six seven eight oh two. Four five point seven one seven six four three, minus eight six point six six seven eight oh two. Four five point seven one seven six four three, minus eight six point six six seven eight oh two. Hobaugh, thirty-four, Solis. Four five--
( She keeps going, even as she takes in that monster on the horizon, keeps listening, sees the nooses fall. )
Hobaugh, thirty-four, Solis.
( Softly, and finally, she's silent. There's a rage in her that starts to simmer, the kind of rage she knows in herself to be dangerous and destructive, the anger that has pushed her to survive and has pushed her to be ready to tear herself apart. Anger is less incapacitating than fear; she can use it for something. Some of it she knows isn't her. It's the dream, these strange memories or history or whatever the fuck it is that they're observing.
When she speaks, her voice is flat. )
Kinda poetic, ain't it? We emerged from a tunnel all covered in blood, like some fucked up metaphor for birth, and now we're being faced death.
( Sarissa spins the table leg in her hand. It's not too hefty that her father wouldn't have used it, on a bad day. She remembers a lot of those beatings. Maybe not all, when they were so frequent that they bled together, and when sometimes they left her near unconscious, but she can remember enough. Those days she still fought to survive, and that's the feeling this is giving her, that desperate, hungry need to survive. These days she kept going more out of sheer spite and stubbornness, and as they stand and the monster continues on, she feels really bloody tired. That defiance is burning in her, and she knows it isn't hers, and she so desperately wants it to just stop. For one fucking minute just stop, because in this place even animals hadn't been okay, they'd been shoved in that dark, crowded space and left to rot.
Moving closer to the railing, Sarissa smiles, though there's nothing pleasant in it. Exhaustion and bitterness, maybe. )
This place and me and bloody railings.