"I bet. And when it's time to go home, I expect I'll see you parachuting down the side of the Ridge? Cuts your travel time in half." Ripley sighs. She'd choose deadly parachute over unenthusiastic hike any day. At leads her feet wouldn't be so sore.
Tulle and weight shift as one until CT is snug against her side. She suspects it's a consequence of exhaustion as opposed to anything else. A thread, she says, and it's that very thread which seems to keep her from collapsing. Worn thinner and thinner as Winter turns to Spring. As memories foam up from seas better forgotten, once a self-contained trickle now crashing ashore to sweep her legs out.
How long until that thread snaps?
How many times can old wounds bear to be re-opened?
She chews the inside of her cheek, having had her fill of utter powerlessness. Grasps for solutions in a world where magic squanders technology and comes up empty handed each time. The entire night, save for Fever's ballet, she'd been trapped to her audience seat. Her strength of will rended from her, leaving her at the mercy of each new performance with eyes forever opened.
CT's first performance; a reenactment of death, elegant and brutal.
Her second performance; theft.
All while she sat and watched.
She's worried.
"I figured," She murmurs, winding her arm around CT's shoulder. Bringing her in as much as her tulle allows. I've got you, said in so few words. "About the same. Angry, tired, confused. I thought I killed a woman on stage today, so that was— something."
no subject
"I bet. And when it's time to go home, I expect I'll see you parachuting down the side of the Ridge? Cuts your travel time in half." Ripley sighs. She'd choose deadly parachute over unenthusiastic hike any day. At leads her feet wouldn't be so sore.
Tulle and weight shift as one until CT is snug against her side. She suspects it's a consequence of exhaustion as opposed to anything else. A thread, she says, and it's that very thread which seems to keep her from collapsing. Worn thinner and thinner as Winter turns to Spring. As memories foam up from seas better forgotten, once a self-contained trickle now crashing ashore to sweep her legs out.
How long until that thread snaps?
How many times can old wounds bear to be re-opened?
She chews the inside of her cheek, having had her fill of utter powerlessness. Grasps for solutions in a world where magic squanders technology and comes up empty handed each time. The entire night, save for Fever's ballet, she'd been trapped to her audience seat. Her strength of will rended from her, leaving her at the mercy of each new performance with eyes forever opened.
CT's first performance; a reenactment of death, elegant and brutal.
Her second performance; theft.
All while she sat and watched.
She's worried.
"I figured," She murmurs, winding her arm around CT's shoulder. Bringing her in as much as her tulle allows. I've got you, said in so few words. "About the same. Angry, tired, confused. I thought I killed a woman on stage today, so that was— something."