THERE'S A SHE-WOLF IN YOUR CLOSET
WHO: Riful of the West (pullingyourlegs)
WHERE: Supahjail!
WHEN: WHENEVER WHEREVER WE'RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER
WARNINGS: TENTACLECHAN NAVELGAZES, PURPLE PROSE IS EVERYWHERE, BEAR IS DRIVING?
SUMMARY: Riful thinks about her S.O.A. and is not very happy! In fact, she kind of goes apeshit!
FORMAT: paralaradingdong
For what must be the thousandth time, she sighs, looking at the blank grey floor beneath her, and shrugs her shoulders--shoulders that no longer have any arms attached, which is beside the point. It's a floor she's gazed on more than stepped on; in her current state, she prefers the relative comfort and warmth of her cot. Caring about temperature is something she'd hardly cared about before; shoes were an unnecessary novelty for her when she first arrived here, and that lovely, polite girl took her out to go clothes-shopping... what was her name again? That memory seems ages old--Dinah, or Diana?
The train of thought is nothing but a poor distraction, and Dinah or Diana is long gone; it isn't important, really, except as a means to keep her from remembering her own situation. Without any real nourishment, Riful is diminishing by the day, slowly but surely; occasionally, she believes she can feel it, the strength that was already near-gone being sapped from her flesh, her blood diluting, and she knows what is coming. The end may not be soon--it may take months for her to completely give up the ghost--but that makes it worse, and so much more cruel when she can feel their eyes on her... mocking her. Damn it! Whether or not her weakness is palpable, Riful's hunger is a tangible and ever-increasing reality--the security guards and the janitors pass by, their meager energy entering her perception, and her mouth waters. At the same time, she knows that they won't come in--they've been warned far too thoroughly about the monster and how far to stay away--and if they did, then what? Even if she could eat her fill now, sate herself--even if she was able to escape from the prison--even then!--what would she do? What is the use of trying to take this useless world when there is no way she can keep a tenuous hold on it?
Really, she has far too many questions in her head right now! It's nothing short of annoying; Riful doesn't like thinking in such depth, but with one remaining limb and no prospects, she's had time to do little else. At any rate--what she was asking herself--departure is something inevitable and useless to delay, and she hates that feeling of helplessness. What good is it, ruling a city that will be snatched from her grasp at something else's whim? And when she returns, what will she have regained? What will she remember? What use will any of this be against that monster? Riful doesn't let herself think the correct response. She has too many questions, but the cruelest ones are those which she knows the answers to.
She doesn't let herself make a commotion, either. She doesn't lash out at the walls, doesn't try to stand, doesn't shout, doesn't waste any of her precious energy--just mashes her face into her pillow and lets it collect her tears while she tries not to make a fool of herself any more than the heroes have already managed. She must compose herself. She knows she must keep her dignity, because she has nothing else.
Nothing. When she returns, deftly lifted from this world and dropped down in the last one, she will be marked for death and armless, and there is nothing she can do here and now to make a difference. She's being mocked and degraded by these righteous idiots for nothing., and she can't even wipe her face. She wants Dauf right now, that idiot--partly because she wants a big ugly face to carve into, but mostly because she just wants Dauf to be here. It would make this all so much easier, him being here to bumble around like a fool and ignore her directions, and not because of the extra help; as if he was any help at all during his best day! She snuffles a laugh into her pillow, slightly high-pitched. It would be easier to pretend, were he with her, that this world could be taken, that there was a purpose to any of it, and that he wasn't as good as dead already. Things would be different--if it weren't just her--alone--powerless--
It is as she thinks that word for what must be the thousandth time that Riful stops thinking, lets go, and screams.
WHERE: Supahjail!
WHEN: WHENEVER WHEREVER WE'RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER
WARNINGS: TENTACLECHAN NAVELGAZES, PURPLE PROSE IS EVERYWHERE, BEAR IS DRIVING?
SUMMARY: Riful thinks about her S.O.A. and is not very happy! In fact, she kind of goes apeshit!
FORMAT: paralaradingdong
For what must be the thousandth time, she sighs, looking at the blank grey floor beneath her, and shrugs her shoulders--shoulders that no longer have any arms attached, which is beside the point. It's a floor she's gazed on more than stepped on; in her current state, she prefers the relative comfort and warmth of her cot. Caring about temperature is something she'd hardly cared about before; shoes were an unnecessary novelty for her when she first arrived here, and that lovely, polite girl took her out to go clothes-shopping... what was her name again? That memory seems ages old--Dinah, or Diana?
The train of thought is nothing but a poor distraction, and Dinah or Diana is long gone; it isn't important, really, except as a means to keep her from remembering her own situation. Without any real nourishment, Riful is diminishing by the day, slowly but surely; occasionally, she believes she can feel it, the strength that was already near-gone being sapped from her flesh, her blood diluting, and she knows what is coming. The end may not be soon--it may take months for her to completely give up the ghost--but that makes it worse, and so much more cruel when she can feel their eyes on her... mocking her. Damn it! Whether or not her weakness is palpable, Riful's hunger is a tangible and ever-increasing reality--the security guards and the janitors pass by, their meager energy entering her perception, and her mouth waters. At the same time, she knows that they won't come in--they've been warned far too thoroughly about the monster and how far to stay away--and if they did, then what? Even if she could eat her fill now, sate herself--even if she was able to escape from the prison--even then!--what would she do? What is the use of trying to take this useless world when there is no way she can keep a tenuous hold on it?
Really, she has far too many questions in her head right now! It's nothing short of annoying; Riful doesn't like thinking in such depth, but with one remaining limb and no prospects, she's had time to do little else. At any rate--what she was asking herself--departure is something inevitable and useless to delay, and she hates that feeling of helplessness. What good is it, ruling a city that will be snatched from her grasp at something else's whim? And when she returns, what will she have regained? What will she remember? What use will any of this be against that monster? Riful doesn't let herself think the correct response. She has too many questions, but the cruelest ones are those which she knows the answers to.
She doesn't let herself make a commotion, either. She doesn't lash out at the walls, doesn't try to stand, doesn't shout, doesn't waste any of her precious energy--just mashes her face into her pillow and lets it collect her tears while she tries not to make a fool of herself any more than the heroes have already managed. She must compose herself. She knows she must keep her dignity, because she has nothing else.
Nothing. When she returns, deftly lifted from this world and dropped down in the last one, she will be marked for death and armless, and there is nothing she can do here and now to make a difference. She's being mocked and degraded by these righteous idiots for nothing., and she can't even wipe her face. She wants Dauf right now, that idiot--partly because she wants a big ugly face to carve into, but mostly because she just wants Dauf to be here. It would make this all so much easier, him being here to bumble around like a fool and ignore her directions, and not because of the extra help; as if he was any help at all during his best day! She snuffles a laugh into her pillow, slightly high-pitched. It would be easier to pretend, were he with her, that this world could be taken, that there was a purpose to any of it, and that he wasn't as good as dead already. Things would be different--if it weren't just her--alone--powerless--
It is as she thinks that word for what must be the thousandth time that Riful stops thinking, lets go, and screams.