Arrival [ Week 34, Day 2 ]
[ video ]
[ The Hitomi flickers on. Its screen registers a sickening spiral of blue and soft gray, spinning, wheeling wildly. After a sudden flash of read, and then the slap of a palm against the screen, it's obvious that the thing-- and its owner-- is falling. Falling fast, and apparently from a great distance. And suddenly a swath of green interrupts it all, out of focus for a moment, punctuated by a crash and sharp, pained cry.
The green defines itself, shifting. Leaves rustled by a breeze.]
M-mono! I can't leave her to them! Dormin, where... You promised...!
[ The owner of the voice wasn't visible, perhaps similarly lost in the greenery, but the voice itself is raw with palpably fresh pain and grief, roughened as if with disuse. And just as swiftly, two calloused hands swoop in from one side, pressing onto the screen as if it's a window that could be broken through. A young man's gaunt, half-starved and battered face peers down, blood flowing from a gash on his forehead, a few leaves stuck askew in his tousled hair, and he's searching the screen as if for answers.
Or for hope. ]
Take me back! Take me ba--
[ His eyes widen... and then narrow as he squints, clambering awkwardly over the branch that broke his fall just to press his face so close to the screen that it's almost touching. His hands grip the communicator and give it an experimental jostle. And suddenly all the heat and anger rushes out of him, and he sucks in a shaky breath, biting down on his lower lip while the blood slides a sluggish course down his temple and cheek. He stares, glossy-eyed... and then stubbornly juts his chin. ]
What... what is this? Where... Where am I?
[ The Hitomi flickers on. Its screen registers a sickening spiral of blue and soft gray, spinning, wheeling wildly. After a sudden flash of read, and then the slap of a palm against the screen, it's obvious that the thing-- and its owner-- is falling. Falling fast, and apparently from a great distance. And suddenly a swath of green interrupts it all, out of focus for a moment, punctuated by a crash and sharp, pained cry.
The green defines itself, shifting. Leaves rustled by a breeze.]
M-mono! I can't leave her to them! Dormin, where... You promised...!
[ The owner of the voice wasn't visible, perhaps similarly lost in the greenery, but the voice itself is raw with palpably fresh pain and grief, roughened as if with disuse. And just as swiftly, two calloused hands swoop in from one side, pressing onto the screen as if it's a window that could be broken through. A young man's gaunt, half-starved and battered face peers down, blood flowing from a gash on his forehead, a few leaves stuck askew in his tousled hair, and he's searching the screen as if for answers.
Or for hope. ]
Take me back! Take me ba--
[ His eyes widen... and then narrow as he squints, clambering awkwardly over the branch that broke his fall just to press his face so close to the screen that it's almost touching. His hands grip the communicator and give it an experimental jostle. And suddenly all the heat and anger rushes out of him, and he sucks in a shaky breath, biting down on his lower lip while the blood slides a sluggish course down his temple and cheek. He stares, glossy-eyed... and then stubbornly juts his chin. ]
What... what is this? Where... Where am I?