Incomplete
Who: Elena, OPEN
When: This evening
Where: Walking the streets
Rating: TBA
Warnings: Angst, language, touch of blood?
Summary: Elena is out punching walls taking a walk after finding out Reno’s gone poof.
Like any good book that’s only half-way scripted, there were so many things left unsaid.
That’s what Elena thought as she walked down the streets of the city, her hands buried in her pockets, the gun digging comfortably into her tailbone with every long stride. Schuldig was at home, and though she wanted to go there and fall into bed to stare at a slowly-familiarizing ceiling with her body half-draped on Shu, there was ill-comfort on the subject and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be pressed. So, a walk was better, a walk before she heard from Rude, before she found out if she was drinking alone in the tree house, with Rude at Sunde.
As she so often did, Elena blamed herself. The fact of the matter was, she should have known sooner. How long had Reno been gone, and only now she saw the evidence of it? How long had he been missing, and it took any of them this long to find out?
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t right.
And she didn’t expect anyone to understand why this hurt so badly. This wasn’t about love or anything of the sort; this was about the fact that he was once a friend, a confidant, a teammate that she valued as much, if not more, than all the others. He was a constant, and now that constant was gone. The first one of many, she thought, and it terrified her, because if enough of the constants were missing, the house would topple and she’d be left in the debris and nothing else.
Elena wasn’t ready to give up her hold of Gaia yet, and all these people, especially people like Reno, Rude, and the president, they were all that Gaia meant to her. In some ways, it was like being brought over here all over again, that first lonely, scared day.
She walked past an abandoned house, and the urge to punch one of the dusty windows was strangling her. But, in the end, what would that do but cut her hand? What would it do but make her bleed, and how would that help the situation? She could possibly punch the wall and make a sizable dent instead, thank you Jenova cells, but even that wasn’t going to be without injury.
Fuck it, Elena. Let something out, or you’re going to explode like one of Duke-sir’s bombs. Boom. Don’t want that now, do we?
There was a sickening crunch as her hand slammed into bricks, dust and dirt flying like a cloud of spring eve’s fog. The dent she left in the side of that forgotten home was something she could be proud of later, when the pain wasn’t radiating up her arm, when she wasn’t pulling back a hand where the knuckles were covered in blood from split skin, the threads of it momentarily sticking to the building before sliding into the bottom cup of the dent. She hissed, she cursed, but it felt good to hurt physically, to feel the adrenaline come to replace the pain, because it all cut down the sharp roar of emotional pain and fear, so much fear that everything of their past was forgotten the second he had stepped back home.
Boom, indeed.
The treehouse, her old home…and now they were ghosts of things that harbored memories and little more. And who would remember them but her anymore?
She let her hand fall to her side, useless for now. As her fingers straightened out, the fist uncurling, she could feel the sharp pieces of rock and brick embedded in her skin about her knuckles and under it, stinging smartly. Maybe later, she’d whimper and beg for a potion with puppy dog, watering eyes, but for the moment, she didn’t care, just grit her teeth and bore it as it dripped blood quietly onto the street she started walking again.
When: This evening
Where: Walking the streets
Rating: TBA
Warnings: Angst, language, touch of blood?
Summary: Elena is out punching walls taking a walk after finding out Reno’s gone poof.
Like any good book that’s only half-way scripted, there were so many things left unsaid.
That’s what Elena thought as she walked down the streets of the city, her hands buried in her pockets, the gun digging comfortably into her tailbone with every long stride. Schuldig was at home, and though she wanted to go there and fall into bed to stare at a slowly-familiarizing ceiling with her body half-draped on Shu, there was ill-comfort on the subject and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be pressed. So, a walk was better, a walk before she heard from Rude, before she found out if she was drinking alone in the tree house, with Rude at Sunde.
As she so often did, Elena blamed herself. The fact of the matter was, she should have known sooner. How long had Reno been gone, and only now she saw the evidence of it? How long had he been missing, and it took any of them this long to find out?
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t right.
And she didn’t expect anyone to understand why this hurt so badly. This wasn’t about love or anything of the sort; this was about the fact that he was once a friend, a confidant, a teammate that she valued as much, if not more, than all the others. He was a constant, and now that constant was gone. The first one of many, she thought, and it terrified her, because if enough of the constants were missing, the house would topple and she’d be left in the debris and nothing else.
Elena wasn’t ready to give up her hold of Gaia yet, and all these people, especially people like Reno, Rude, and the president, they were all that Gaia meant to her. In some ways, it was like being brought over here all over again, that first lonely, scared day.
She walked past an abandoned house, and the urge to punch one of the dusty windows was strangling her. But, in the end, what would that do but cut her hand? What would it do but make her bleed, and how would that help the situation? She could possibly punch the wall and make a sizable dent instead, thank you Jenova cells, but even that wasn’t going to be without injury.
Fuck it, Elena. Let something out, or you’re going to explode like one of Duke-sir’s bombs. Boom. Don’t want that now, do we?
There was a sickening crunch as her hand slammed into bricks, dust and dirt flying like a cloud of spring eve’s fog. The dent she left in the side of that forgotten home was something she could be proud of later, when the pain wasn’t radiating up her arm, when she wasn’t pulling back a hand where the knuckles were covered in blood from split skin, the threads of it momentarily sticking to the building before sliding into the bottom cup of the dent. She hissed, she cursed, but it felt good to hurt physically, to feel the adrenaline come to replace the pain, because it all cut down the sharp roar of emotional pain and fear, so much fear that everything of their past was forgotten the second he had stepped back home.
Boom, indeed.
The treehouse, her old home…and now they were ghosts of things that harbored memories and little more. And who would remember them but her anymore?
She let her hand fall to her side, useless for now. As her fingers straightened out, the fist uncurling, she could feel the sharp pieces of rock and brick embedded in her skin about her knuckles and under it, stinging smartly. Maybe later, she’d whimper and beg for a potion with puppy dog, watering eyes, but for the moment, she didn’t care, just grit her teeth and bore it as it dripped blood quietly onto the street she started walking again.