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the last good day | {lore/reagan}
Mar 12, 2021 11:41:07 GMT -5
Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Mar 12, 2021 11:41:07 GMT -5
There was a certain sort of numbness that came in the aftermath of a fight. It was the same as when she woke from one of her dreams. Nothing felt real, sort of, or maybe it was just too pale in comparison. Her teeth chattered despite not being cold, her eyes were keen and hyper-aware of every slight change around her, from a gust of wind kicking a tumbleweed across the cracked earth to a sliver of cloud floating across the bleached sun, to the distance between her and her allies growing wider as she wandered.
She pinched her arm to make sure she was still there, to make sure she could still feel, to make sure this was real.
Something felt final to her. Like this was the beginning of the end, like things from here on out would only get worse and it was just a matter of a few hours before either she or someone she'd incidentally began to care about stopped breathing and their face lit up the sky. Despite the subdued gnawing in the pit of her chest, it was a terrifyingly overwhelming feeling, and she climbed onto the trunk of a car and sat with her legs crossed and reminded herself to breathe. Eyes closed, chin tilted upward toward the sky.
She didn't want them to die.
She didn't want to die herself, either.
It wasn't a sound, exactly, that alerted her. More an absence of one. That sense that humans had developed centuries ago that told them when they were being hunted. She could feel the eyes on her, strongly enough to startle her forward so she could grab for her pistol.
Lore cleared a path toward her, all long legs and an easy smile and a certain assurance that came to one only when they knew precisely who the fuck they were.
"Ah, girl of my fuckin' dreams," she said, hopping down to help close the distance between them. A fleeting sense of what if passed her mind: what if Lore was approaching just to put a gun to Reagan's temple and pull the trigger? What if she didn't, and they left this conversation no-longer considering each other friends? She smiled regardless, making it a point of keeping her gun in its holster, and folded her hands together.
"Don't suppose you came just to get me out of my pants?"
She pinched her arm to make sure she was still there, to make sure she could still feel, to make sure this was real.
Something felt final to her. Like this was the beginning of the end, like things from here on out would only get worse and it was just a matter of a few hours before either she or someone she'd incidentally began to care about stopped breathing and their face lit up the sky. Despite the subdued gnawing in the pit of her chest, it was a terrifyingly overwhelming feeling, and she climbed onto the trunk of a car and sat with her legs crossed and reminded herself to breathe. Eyes closed, chin tilted upward toward the sky.
She didn't want them to die.
She didn't want to die herself, either.
It wasn't a sound, exactly, that alerted her. More an absence of one. That sense that humans had developed centuries ago that told them when they were being hunted. She could feel the eyes on her, strongly enough to startle her forward so she could grab for her pistol.
Lore cleared a path toward her, all long legs and an easy smile and a certain assurance that came to one only when they knew precisely who the fuck they were.
"Ah, girl of my fuckin' dreams," she said, hopping down to help close the distance between them. A fleeting sense of what if passed her mind: what if Lore was approaching just to put a gun to Reagan's temple and pull the trigger? What if she didn't, and they left this conversation no-longer considering each other friends? She smiled regardless, making it a point of keeping her gun in its holster, and folded her hands together.
"Don't suppose you came just to get me out of my pants?"
