on Thursday afternoon
[Filtered from Hope, written]
I heard it takes a week for people to be revived. Is that just "about"? Sometimes it can be longer? [The top quickly scribbled out to leave only a period.] Li She's la
[There's a sudden break into voice when Aerith mutters:] I feel sick. [She still has to check on Hope... she doesn't know what to say with ( Read more... )
I heard it takes a week for people to be revived. Is that just "about"? Sometimes it can be longer? [The top quickly scribbled out to leave only a period.] Li She's la
[There's a sudden break into voice when Aerith mutters:] I feel sick. [She still has to check on Hope... she doesn't know what to say with ( Read more... )
He'd learnt plenty of survival skills, to be certain, but how does one survive the foreshadowing of a heavy loss? Time and time again, his thoughts would drift back toward the Purge-and the bereavement he suffered therein. He didn't exactly come away from it unscathed, even as his circumstances shaped him; but being swept up in everything else had forced him to move on, or move on in the best way he could, anyway. Surviving was a little more important, even as he lost himself within his facade of hatred.
But things are different now. There's nothing to distract him from the worry and fear as he awaits the safe return of his friends-especially Lightning, and Aerith. All he can do is sit and wait with Baldr, and even with the occasional comfort of a friend it's never enough to calm his nerves.
Slowly, as the hours pass different voices begin to trickle in over the journals, words of relief between other unfortunate draftees and their friends, comrades. Yet the ones he'd want to hear most don't seem to come.
It takes him the greater part of the day to act, fearing what he may get in return-which is nothing at all-but finally the youth gathers up the courage to send a written message to Aerith's journal.]
So... how did it go?
[Ridiculously casual, but he's afraid he might lose his composure if he gets too serious.]
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Lightning's dead, and now there is nothing to buffer that anxiety about how Hope will take things.]
I'll come and tell you.
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[His hands are shaking and clammy now, feeling as if he'd gone cold. "I'll?" He definitely caught that Aerith had only referred to herself, alone, and only intended to speak to him alone.
What could have happened?
Hope sets the journal aside for a moment, attempting to find his bearings. Several thoughts swirl through his head, some of them denial. Lightning wouldn't let anything happen to herself. She's too tough to go down so easily, especially when she didn't want to fight in the first place. Right?
But her brand-
Is this what she meant by Hope needing to stay here?
He exhales slowly, wrapping his arms around himself as he waits for Aerith to either respond or simply go ahead with coming by.]
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If her own writing has a more jagged edge than usual... it's rather understandable, considering what's happened.
There's a knock on the door, and Aerith's voice:]
Hope?
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Sans excited puppy, and Hope's expression is very serious, eyebrows knit.]
Where's Lightning.
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Sh-she.. She'll be back next week.
[ooc: btw, are you fine with others getting involved with trying to fix Hope's brand? I meant to check over AIM but my connection is being really... really... stupid.]
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What does that mean...?! Where is she?
[His voice is terse, though it's quiet.]
[ooc: Sure! Though he might put up a fuss about the whole thing at first. :|a]
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Where... where is she...? [Quieter now, as if he hadn't heard the news he'd been given at all - though it's obvious he did.]
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She'll be back, Hope. You'll see her again. [She takes a breath, looking at his face.] People come back here.
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I... I need to sit down... [One slow step is taken toward the direction of the couch, and then his legs buckle beneath him. First he collapses onto his knees, and then he presses his hands to either side of his face, slumping in a strange sort of crouch onto the floor.
An insistent scratching and a couple of whines, followed by Baldr's voice calling his name floats down the corridor that would lead to his room, but Hope doesn't move or give it any kind of acknowledgment. All that he can hear, and see, is that horrific scene on the bridge-the explosions, the screams of terror, and watching the most important person in his life fall to her death.
Except now it's Lightning he sees in her place.]
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She raises her hands as her breath turns shaky, covering her eyes. She swipes the tears with the heels of her palm, her fists clenching in the palm of her hand.]
Hope... try to be strong. You can't give up.
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[One fist meets the floor with a loud thud, and fragile knuckles throb in protest, but it's barely felt. Like a curtain slowly being drawn back to allow the sunlight to filter in, so do the words Aerith had uttered moments before - but it's not enough. It's not enough.]
"People come back here"?! Are you insane or something? Just... get out of here! Leave me alone!
[He bows his head, choked sounds twisting from his throat, hands pressed against his eyes.] Just... leave me alone...
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But she never told Hope she died and he's not in a good state. She's not in a good state, and that urge to leave has now been enabled. She backs up.] I'm sorry, Hope. I'll come back to check on you later.
[Her hand is reaching for the doorknob. There really is only so much she can take between this and going through the draft itself. She's found a limit.]
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... wait, I'm s-
[The boy grimaces a little, reaching to hold onto his wrist instead as it throbs painfully, fingers tinged with a strange, translucent bluish hue from the light obscured beneath them.]
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