The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-02-23 02:54 am
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2015-02-23 02:54 am
Entry tags:
Tried to come up with an artistic way to say, they don't know you, and neither do I
Who| Initiate, Psii, and Sam
What| Post-amputation drinking and leftover valentine food. Making smores.
Where| Just outside an ice-cave, nearby to the lake and forests.
When| a little bit after the amputation.
WARNINGS| language, drinking
He wakes to stinging, prickling cold on one side, and intense heat upon the other. Neither sensation is quite strong enough to overpower the pain in his leg. It makes him sputter, shudder, and cringe. But, he realises, he's free. He can see stars above. Was it a few minutes, hours, days? He's not proper sure. Morphling and injury like such had disoriented him in the past, though not to the degree of their combination.
It has him all unsure, when he looks over, if what he's seeing is really real. Not only is Sam sitting by, still there-- when he had no reason to be-- but the Psiioniic's there too. The Psiioniic who had even less reason. He blinks and squints like he can cast away the illusion, but it's all truth up before him. Motherfucker's is still being there. There's a grip on his heart and a nervous churn in his guts.
You stayed.
The words get caught up on his teeth and fall back inside.
He turns his head from them, to the backpack laying close. First comes hauling himself up to sitting. He feels the lack up of his other foot, but he tries not to focus on it. Instead, he reaches for that pack to dig up inside it, not saying a word. At least not until he's hauled out the leftovers of his capitol gifted date-meal from days ago, and two bottles of vodka. Two more than he ever wanted. He rolls one over to Sam, and the other to the Psiioniic.
"Ain't need them," He says. "IF YOU GOT FANCY UP FOR IT, THEY'S YOURS. Got some food bits herelike too."
Not 'Evening', or 'Sorry', or 'Thanks'. Simply, 'Do you want food?'
What| Post-amputation drinking and leftover valentine food. Making smores.
Where| Just outside an ice-cave, nearby to the lake and forests.
When| a little bit after the amputation.
WARNINGS| language, drinking
He wakes to stinging, prickling cold on one side, and intense heat upon the other. Neither sensation is quite strong enough to overpower the pain in his leg. It makes him sputter, shudder, and cringe. But, he realises, he's free. He can see stars above. Was it a few minutes, hours, days? He's not proper sure. Morphling and injury like such had disoriented him in the past, though not to the degree of their combination.
It has him all unsure, when he looks over, if what he's seeing is really real. Not only is Sam sitting by, still there-- when he had no reason to be-- but the Psiioniic's there too. The Psiioniic who had even less reason. He blinks and squints like he can cast away the illusion, but it's all truth up before him. Motherfucker's is still being there. There's a grip on his heart and a nervous churn in his guts.
You stayed.
The words get caught up on his teeth and fall back inside.
He turns his head from them, to the backpack laying close. First comes hauling himself up to sitting. He feels the lack up of his other foot, but he tries not to focus on it. Instead, he reaches for that pack to dig up inside it, not saying a word. At least not until he's hauled out the leftovers of his capitol gifted date-meal from days ago, and two bottles of vodka. Two more than he ever wanted. He rolls one over to Sam, and the other to the Psiioniic.
"Ain't need them," He says. "IF YOU GOT FANCY UP FOR IT, THEY'S YOURS. Got some food bits herelike too."
Not 'Evening', or 'Sorry', or 'Thanks'. Simply, 'Do you want food?'