That Which Was Lost (130/?)
anonymous
December 6 2012, 15:19:27 UTC
She caught herself just as she began to reach out, down towards Benezia to do... Well, she wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to do, try to ease the frown away or feel the texture of her skin again or something. Bad enough that she was standing here and staring at her like some sort of pathetic stalker with a doomed crush. Instead, she let her hand drop back to her side and edged carefully around the cot towards the bed. Her nose wrinkled involuntarily as the sour smell of dirty linen and old sweat hit her, and she quickly realised why Benezia had opted for the cot, for all that it was the smaller and considerably less comfortable of the two options. But it wasn't like Aethyta hadn't slept in worse places over the course of her life. Far worse places. And someone had at least taken the rubbish bin she'd emptied her guts into away.
She stripped off boots and shucked off clothes as quietly as she could manage and climbed into the bed, burrowing beneath the blankets, trying and failing to get comfortable on the human-style furniture.
Aethyta had always prided herself on her ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, during anything. It was a skill she'd picked up during her merc days, one that had served her well, and not just over the past couple of months. But tonight, for whatever reason, she could just not settle down, even when she found a position that didn’t make her neck ache. Her scalp itched. When she relieved that particular discomfort, it transferred itself to her nose, then her leg. Her crests wouldn't sit right against the human-style pillows, which had no allowance for such things, when laying on her side. Her head ached. Her mouth was dry with thirst, and her stomach periodically decided to remind her of the dinner she’d missed. And her heart ached, too, a weight on her chest and on her gut every time her thoughts returned to Zara, and then to everyone else she had lost, one way or another, over the years.
You could build up a lot of regrets over a thousand years.
She was rolling over onto her stomach for the umpteenth time, trying to remember that old meditation technique Admiral Kessol, the stiff-necked old tart, had taught her, when she heard the rustle of blankets from the direction of the cot. Seconds later, Benezia began to speak, her voice whisper-soft and urgent, almost pleading in tone. It was all but gibberish, Aethyta realised, even as she sat up in her own bed, straining to hear. She could follow a bit of it, here and there, if she really tried - something about geth and codes and danger - but the bursts of coherence were brief and often contradictory, as if she were arguing with herself.
It couldn't have lasted more than a minute, all told, if that. Then came a sharp intake of breath, followed by the long, slow exhalation of someone realising that what had just come before had been a dream - but who wasn’t entirely reassured by the fact.
"Nezzy?" she hazarded after a long, silent minute.
"A dream." The reply was soft but instant.
"Yeah, I gathered that."
"I'm sorry. I did not mean to wake you."
Aethyta shrugged, unseen in the darkness, and allowed herself to settle back down against the pillows.
"Don't worry about it. I wasn't exactly sleeping."
She stripped off boots and shucked off clothes as quietly as she could manage and climbed into the bed, burrowing beneath the blankets, trying and failing to get comfortable on the human-style furniture.
Aethyta had always prided herself on her ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, during anything. It was a skill she'd picked up during her merc days, one that had served her well, and not just over the past couple of months. But tonight, for whatever reason, she could just not settle down, even when she found a position that didn’t make her neck ache. Her scalp itched. When she relieved that particular discomfort, it transferred itself to her nose, then her leg. Her crests wouldn't sit right against the human-style pillows, which had no allowance for such things, when laying on her side. Her head ached. Her mouth was dry with thirst, and her stomach periodically decided to remind her of the dinner she’d missed. And her heart ached, too, a weight on her chest and on her gut every time her thoughts returned to Zara, and then to everyone else she had lost, one way or another, over the years.
You could build up a lot of regrets over a thousand years.
She was rolling over onto her stomach for the umpteenth time, trying to remember that old meditation technique Admiral Kessol, the stiff-necked old tart, had taught her, when she heard the rustle of blankets from the direction of the cot. Seconds later, Benezia began to speak, her voice whisper-soft and urgent, almost pleading in tone. It was all but gibberish, Aethyta realised, even as she sat up in her own bed, straining to hear. She could follow a bit of it, here and there, if she really tried - something about geth and codes and danger - but the bursts of coherence were brief and often contradictory, as if she were arguing with herself.
It couldn't have lasted more than a minute, all told, if that. Then came a sharp intake of breath, followed by the long, slow exhalation of someone realising that what had just come before had been a dream - but who wasn’t entirely reassured by the fact.
"Nezzy?" she hazarded after a long, silent minute.
"A dream." The reply was soft but instant.
"Yeah, I gathered that."
"I'm sorry. I did not mean to wake you."
Aethyta shrugged, unseen in the darkness, and allowed herself to settle back down against the pillows.
"Don't worry about it. I wasn't exactly sleeping."
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