The Ground Walks, with Time in a Box :: [Day 4 + BARFs]

Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Jul 10, 2015 23:06:03 GMT -5

[googlefont="Coda Caption:800"]

lyon

circe

district two female

---

The night peels back like fingernails, one excruciating moment at a time. Beneath the shiny veneer is torn flesh and mangled bones. Circe wheezes, prone on the floor of the storage car. Arrayed around her are strips of black clothes and dented knives. Though they but clipped the Reaper's shroud, they too have come far too close to death. She inches fingers away, pressing palms onto dulled blades. They are dull enough not to cut; they are dull enough to hold her weight. Circe twists, forcing herself to hold weight even though she is minutes past death. When she stands and wobbles from the car, she is a skeleton marionette.

She walks with the taste of Death on the back of her tongue. She would have expected it to be bitter, to taste of ash and rancid meat. But it's the opposite. It's the sweetest thing: angeldust and a peppering of divinity. Soon, she promises in so quiet a voice only Death can hear it.

By the time she stumbles into the car with her allies, a new life has taken hold in her chest. She is exsanguinated, poisoned, shivering. Her quarter heart comes to a crashing start at the sight of them and she realizes that she cannot promise Death soon or even ever. Not while there was a quarter piece left.

It's Orion's gaze that confirms her transition from living to ghost. Her face twists slowly into a scowl. "I cannot possibly look that terrible, Hulk." She steps to him, and makes a liar of herself. She wraps each hand around his biceps, forces her aching legs en pointe so she can meet his mirrored gaze. In his dark, liquid eyes, she does not see the mechanical puppet. She sees herself, ashen skin and bruised flesh and not enough duct tape in the world to heal her wounds. Tears cling to the corners of her eyes as she turns away. Her voice is tight and tiny when she says, "nevermind."

Her left hand slips into his, her other reaching forward. She uses the back of chairs and hand holds hung from the ceiling to maneuver her way to Gunner and Nat. She hears very little of their exchange, so engrossed is she in putting one foot in front of the other while keeping her chin tucked beneath the waterfall of her hair. It is matted and bloody, a perfect shield from the cameras. Orion's hand is a deadweight in hers, nearly lifeless, but as solid as a rock. When she toes bumps against Gunner's thigh, she comes slowly to the floor. She holds fast to Orion with one hand, and reaches for Nat with the other.

Kneeling beside Nat, her fingers but a whisper against his shoulder. She doesn't have to ask if he tastes the divinity too; she already knows.

---

OOC Notes
you mean I don't have to roll a dice in this post?
what IS this madness?
Sponsorship stuff incoming!