king cobra type // sin & lore
Mar 12, 2021 16:48:38 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Mar 12, 2021 16:48:38 GMT -5
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A girl born through distance, she's always known how to keep five feet away. Lorraine's never been taught how to deal with her emotions, just like her mother in so many little ways, when she's alone in the arena she lays awake overanalyzing the comparisons. It's like every minute she doesn't have Kyler reassuring her, she's overthinking the next step, second guessing every true intention these teens have.
There's no fun in this game; she's realizing, the more fair you play, the harder these things get. As if bringing politics into it is making things less complicated, she can't sleep at night now that Kane is dead. Now that her heart races against itself and she waits for that anthem to ring, to see his face one last time and confront the fact that her god complex doesn't extend to disciples.
People die, just not her. Duh.
Syren and Castor sleep, she imagines, and Sin stands guard. Maybe that's why she can't sleep, among other reasons, but she sits up slowly. Ever since that kid shot Kane down, it's like the final thread was cut between them as easy as twine -- is this really how she wants to play the game? Paranoid with every step, she hasn't been herself since the bloodbath, she's been too busy being worried. Only child, the closest thing to family being the Haus of Gaultier back in eight; a place Kane is closer to than she is.
Only slightly concerning, "hey Sin," she slights, pulling herself upright and away from the two sleeping. Closer to him, just slightly within arms reach, "who named you that?"
Tiptoeing around the questions keeping her awake, do you like it when I'm bleeding? Lorraine admits her guilty pleasure, watching the other tributes do worse than her feeds into the feigning confidence -- she's a wreck. Barreling towards the glass edge on the dawn of day four, of screaming until her ears go out and things make sense again. She still remembers when Syren introduced her to these two boys, the way she felt guilty thinking of Achilles back home.
That it was another two boys she wouldn't be able to save; she'd kill them without hesitation, Lore lied to herself. The second she could, the only person she trusted in the arena was Syren. In her eyes, it's a nurse who beckons, a girl who stopped her spiral once before they stepped into this mess together. She hates Sin, for the fact that she has to watch him hurt.
For the fact that he can save himself. That he can pull on her sympathy and her fears at the same time, Lorraine sits next to him, braiding the frays of her hazmat suit together. Best false hope she has left, "I named myself, of course. Shelby Lorraine Gaultier. It's beautiful, or whatever," she says as cocky as ever. Overly aware of the revolver six feet away.
"But Sin? Where did that come from?"
There's no fun in this game; she's realizing, the more fair you play, the harder these things get. As if bringing politics into it is making things less complicated, she can't sleep at night now that Kane is dead. Now that her heart races against itself and she waits for that anthem to ring, to see his face one last time and confront the fact that her god complex doesn't extend to disciples.
People die, just not her. Duh.
Syren and Castor sleep, she imagines, and Sin stands guard. Maybe that's why she can't sleep, among other reasons, but she sits up slowly. Ever since that kid shot Kane down, it's like the final thread was cut between them as easy as twine -- is this really how she wants to play the game? Paranoid with every step, she hasn't been herself since the bloodbath, she's been too busy being worried. Only child, the closest thing to family being the Haus of Gaultier back in eight; a place Kane is closer to than she is.
Only slightly concerning, "hey Sin," she slights, pulling herself upright and away from the two sleeping. Closer to him, just slightly within arms reach, "who named you that?"
Tiptoeing around the questions keeping her awake, do you like it when I'm bleeding? Lorraine admits her guilty pleasure, watching the other tributes do worse than her feeds into the feigning confidence -- she's a wreck. Barreling towards the glass edge on the dawn of day four, of screaming until her ears go out and things make sense again. She still remembers when Syren introduced her to these two boys, the way she felt guilty thinking of Achilles back home.
That it was another two boys she wouldn't be able to save; she'd kill them without hesitation, Lore lied to herself. The second she could, the only person she trusted in the arena was Syren. In her eyes, it's a nurse who beckons, a girl who stopped her spiral once before they stepped into this mess together. She hates Sin, for the fact that she has to watch him hurt.
For the fact that he can save himself. That he can pull on her sympathy and her fears at the same time, Lorraine sits next to him, braiding the frays of her hazmat suit together. Best false hope she has left, "I named myself, of course. Shelby Lorraine Gaultier. It's beautiful, or whatever," she says as cocky as ever. Overly aware of the revolver six feet away.
"But Sin? Where did that come from?"
