[Incomplete]
Who: Elena, OPEN
When: Now
Where: Lurching her way out of Sunde and down the street...
Rating: TBA
Warnings?: TBA
Summary: Doped up and in pain, Elena's refusing to stay in bed out of pride and self-imposed obligation. (Read: Damn Turks.)
Elena hated this, everything about this. The way her body burned, all the blood nothing more than disturbed lava rushing in her veins. She hated how it hurt to take a breath, or the way her head was cloudy and so hard to think with the damn drugs that Schuldig kept giving her; those were nothing but an admission of loss, in her humble opinion. Those stupid silver haired freaks were probably pointing and laughing at her through the networks, reveling in her agony even if they were experiencing their own.
Staying at home, that wasn't proving to be an option anymore. These familiar walls were a failure staring back at her; she had a job to do, and pain be damned!
One foot in front of the other. One, then one, then one. She repeated the mantra in her head, trying not to wince when her steps were delivered, sliding across the ground like a little girl in her mother's slippers. Little growls of determination delivered themselves into her throat, and a sneer scrunched up her nose a hair. One hand, cut open along the lines of her palm from tortures of her own blunt nails, slapped lightly against the wall as she tried to steady herself, leaving little Morse Code trails of blood in drywall and wood.
It hurts! It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts!
She could see the doorway to the porch of Sunde, and then beyond that would lie the city. It wasn't far, and freedom would be hers, freedom to go to her job, to prove them wrong, to laugh in all their bastard faces. Life had to go on as normal. Life...Life was not...was not this.
Behind her, Tot mewed, and she ignored it as she eased gently forward.
Suck it up! You're a fucking Turk, for Shiva's sake! You move. MOVE! Your sister believed in your for a damn reason! Get your worthless ass to your job and be... be the Assistant Director like they want! Tseng wouldn't be in bed over this, would he? Rude wouldn't! The president wouldn't!Ondrea would never!
Her hand found the doorhandle, twisting it slowly before pulling it. Her head was a pond that she was swimming in, but she didn't give much of a damn. One step out onto the porch, then a second, and she was outside, down the stairs. She'd be screwed if Schuldig caught her now, or Shu, even worse if that annoying stalker or any of the remnants caught her shuffling along, but she didn't care. She had a job to do, an office to return to, and she'd crawl there if she had to.
Pride really was a deadly thing. More to herself than to anyone else.
It was only too late that she realized she didn't have her gun, or her materia, but it didn't really matter; Turks could improvise, right?
When: Now
Where: Lurching her way out of Sunde and down the street...
Rating: TBA
Warnings?: TBA
Summary: Doped up and in pain, Elena's refusing to stay in bed out of pride and self-imposed obligation. (Read: Damn Turks.)
Elena hated this, everything about this. The way her body burned, all the blood nothing more than disturbed lava rushing in her veins. She hated how it hurt to take a breath, or the way her head was cloudy and so hard to think with the damn drugs that Schuldig kept giving her; those were nothing but an admission of loss, in her humble opinion. Those stupid silver haired freaks were probably pointing and laughing at her through the networks, reveling in her agony even if they were experiencing their own.
Staying at home, that wasn't proving to be an option anymore. These familiar walls were a failure staring back at her; she had a job to do, and pain be damned!
One foot in front of the other. One, then one, then one. She repeated the mantra in her head, trying not to wince when her steps were delivered, sliding across the ground like a little girl in her mother's slippers. Little growls of determination delivered themselves into her throat, and a sneer scrunched up her nose a hair. One hand, cut open along the lines of her palm from tortures of her own blunt nails, slapped lightly against the wall as she tried to steady herself, leaving little Morse Code trails of blood in drywall and wood.
It hurts! It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts!
She could see the doorway to the porch of Sunde, and then beyond that would lie the city. It wasn't far, and freedom would be hers, freedom to go to her job, to prove them wrong, to laugh in all their bastard faces. Life had to go on as normal. Life...Life was not...was not this.
Behind her, Tot mewed, and she ignored it as she eased gently forward.
Suck it up! You're a fucking Turk, for Shiva's sake! You move. MOVE! Your sister believed in your for a damn reason! Get your worthless ass to your job and be... be the Assistant Director like they want! Tseng wouldn't be in bed over this, would he? Rude wouldn't! The president wouldn't!Ondrea would never!
Her hand found the doorhandle, twisting it slowly before pulling it. Her head was a pond that she was swimming in, but she didn't give much of a damn. One step out onto the porch, then a second, and she was outside, down the stairs. She'd be screwed if Schuldig caught her now, or Shu, even worse if that annoying stalker or any of the remnants caught her shuffling along, but she didn't care. She had a job to do, an office to return to, and she'd crawl there if she had to.
Pride really was a deadly thing. More to herself than to anyone else.
It was only too late that she realized she didn't have her gun, or her materia, but it didn't really matter; Turks could improvise, right?