liability [sunborn v orizuru] Day 2
Jun 26, 2020 11:51:04 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Jun 26, 2020 11:51:04 GMT -5
Holding the skewered body of the creature up for Perdita to see, you don't know what to do with it. Hey... hey, look, your silence says, joyless. Did you see that? I got it. Yeah. I got it. You're not ready to feel the inevitable crunch of its fragile bones if you attempted to pull it off, but the way its tiny head lolls with the dagger's movement is horrible. No, you're not ready for that. Instead you switch your focus back to the face of the girl who keeps telling you to follow her, to look to her. You don't pay attention to the miniature corpse and you certainly don't turn toward the much bigger one. Like this, you don't see the bird's head smack lifelessly into its own limp wing as you take another swing at its last remaining companion.
Still, try as you might not to look, you feel the way your dagger digs deep into the bird — it's the way the weapon is pushed back at you in the collision, the unexpected strength of your enemy tested and proven. It's almost like a carnival game, as if there should be a meter lighting up to say: you are thiiiiiiiiiis strong! You don't feel particularly strong as you lash out, again and again, at something smaller than the modest weapon in your hand, but it would be insulting to name yourself weak. You're still standing. You're still breathing. Apparently that's a feat.
"One more," Perdita tries to reassure him, as if they don't both know that's a lie. There's more than a few birds to fear in this place and there are things waiting for them that are far worse than knife-edged wings and someone else's blood in the water. "We're okay."
You're okay, Niko, she says. You're not dying. That bird didn't kill you. I didn't kill you.
Don't worry about you. You're fine.
You wonder when the day will come that someone will acknowledge that you're not okay, because somehow, even in this hellscape, you're still being told you are. There are bigger things to worry about than you. Don't be so selfish. People are dying. You just got scratched; you just got a little worked up over nothing.
The bird swoops at you again. You try not to flinch, thinking about your sister while hoping that the stress of you being here isn't affecting her health.
Your knife makes contact once more, one small crane coming face to face with the skewered corpse of another. Back home you would look up at flocks of birds flying together and wonder if they were family or friends or strangers banded together for survival. Sometimes you would see just a few, siblings perhaps, like you. Other times there would be so many as to black out the sky. You couldn't count that many people you know well, the kinds of people who would stay that close to your side and travel the world with you... that's when it felt impossible to name what those birds might be to each other.
Three birds? Maybe one of them was just like you, tasked with looking after his sisters at the cost of himself.
Looking away from Perdita, you try to distract yourself with something less real. You think about Red Stone and how you pretended you were her in your training session, as if you could become someone else to make it through the hard moments. This time there are no laser pointers duct taped to your weapon, but that doesn't mean you have to imagine it being bright red. It's red enough already, slick with blood as the wetness of it shines beneath the sunlight. Still, thinking of her, your shoulders straighten out and you seem to grow a couple inches taller, holding yourself with dignity in the face of difficulty.
It's too bad you're unable to mimic her deadly aim.
Still, try as you might not to look, you feel the way your dagger digs deep into the bird — it's the way the weapon is pushed back at you in the collision, the unexpected strength of your enemy tested and proven. It's almost like a carnival game, as if there should be a meter lighting up to say: you are thiiiiiiiiiis strong! You don't feel particularly strong as you lash out, again and again, at something smaller than the modest weapon in your hand, but it would be insulting to name yourself weak. You're still standing. You're still breathing. Apparently that's a feat.
"One more," Perdita tries to reassure him, as if they don't both know that's a lie. There's more than a few birds to fear in this place and there are things waiting for them that are far worse than knife-edged wings and someone else's blood in the water. "We're okay."
You're okay, Niko, she says. You're not dying. That bird didn't kill you. I didn't kill you.
Don't worry about you. You're fine.
You wonder when the day will come that someone will acknowledge that you're not okay, because somehow, even in this hellscape, you're still being told you are. There are bigger things to worry about than you. Don't be so selfish. People are dying. You just got scratched; you just got a little worked up over nothing.
The bird swoops at you again. You try not to flinch, thinking about your sister while hoping that the stress of you being here isn't affecting her health.
( C H O O S E Y O U R O W N A D V E N T U R E )
( You hit... )
( You hit... )
Your knife makes contact once more, one small crane coming face to face with the skewered corpse of another. Back home you would look up at flocks of birds flying together and wonder if they were family or friends or strangers banded together for survival. Sometimes you would see just a few, siblings perhaps, like you. Other times there would be so many as to black out the sky. You couldn't count that many people you know well, the kinds of people who would stay that close to your side and travel the world with you... that's when it felt impossible to name what those birds might be to each other.
Three birds? Maybe one of them was just like you, tasked with looking after his sisters at the cost of himself.
( You miss... )
Looking away from Perdita, you try to distract yourself with something less real. You think about Red Stone and how you pretended you were her in your training session, as if you could become someone else to make it through the hard moments. This time there are no laser pointers duct taped to your weapon, but that doesn't mean you have to imagine it being bright red. It's red enough already, slick with blood as the wetness of it shines beneath the sunlight. Still, thinking of her, your shoulders straighten out and you seem to grow a couple inches taller, holding yourself with dignity in the face of difficulty.
It's too bad you're unable to mimic her deadly aim.
[ niko attacks cherry, knife ]
9Mt9QiSE7dknife
[ 2164 — shallow cut on back — 4 damage ]
9Mt9QiSE7dknife
[ 2164 — shallow cut on back — 4 damage ]
