i am so scared of what will kill me in the end for i am not prepared
Characters: thinkbrave & howaverage :: closed
Date: late morning
Summary: Exploration of the recently made Hell & shadow visitors
Warnings: violence, war, death
Hell's gorgeous. It's wild and untamed, just the way it is back home. She's used to it, descending down the sheer stone cliffs that lead you down, tossing down supplies and scrambling after, then having to brace herself to help Em down as well. It's hard work, and she's not sure if it's faster since she's in better health than she had been in the real Hell for a long time, or slower because of the city-soft sister (or close enough) that she's dragging along with her. Crawling through narrow spaces, sliding down a log, sliding a bit in the patches where the creek crosses over the path before you get to the Hermit's bridge.
The Hermit, she'd told Em on the way down, was the old guy rumoured to have lived in Hell a long while back. A murderer, so they said. Not that he was, actually, she and Lee had found the newpaper cuttings and letters that stood testimony to that, but that took more explanation, and she sort of liked the idea of creeping Em out a bit on her first trip down into Hell. She could always see if the papers were there in the hut, if she could convince Em to wade down the creek with her.
There's a light in her eyes as they finally get to the flat, the flat which has been their only sanctuary for so long. Ellie wonders, briefly, if the others would mind; the Kiwis had been here, soldiers, but Em was an outsider apart from military. She was pretty sure it was okay - Homer'd probably kick up some stink about it, but the others, they wouldn't have minded. (Correction: they wouldn't mind, present tense.)
Admittedly, the thought of arguing with Homer brings her a little grin. She enjoys arguing just for the sake of it, like some kind of sport. Maybe that isn't what Fang meant by 'making your own happiness', but hauling Em down here, gallavanting about in the scrub and reminiscing, that was pretty nice. It allowed for a distraction from being so angry at Jackie, even if it came in the form of scrapes and bruises, smears of mud up to her knees and chest heaving from exertion.
A few moments skip by, and she's striding forward, back into that stolen piece of home. "What do you think?"
Date: late morning
Summary: Exploration of the recently made Hell & shadow visitors
Warnings: violence, war, death
Hell's gorgeous. It's wild and untamed, just the way it is back home. She's used to it, descending down the sheer stone cliffs that lead you down, tossing down supplies and scrambling after, then having to brace herself to help Em down as well. It's hard work, and she's not sure if it's faster since she's in better health than she had been in the real Hell for a long time, or slower because of the city-soft sister (or close enough) that she's dragging along with her. Crawling through narrow spaces, sliding down a log, sliding a bit in the patches where the creek crosses over the path before you get to the Hermit's bridge.
The Hermit, she'd told Em on the way down, was the old guy rumoured to have lived in Hell a long while back. A murderer, so they said. Not that he was, actually, she and Lee had found the newpaper cuttings and letters that stood testimony to that, but that took more explanation, and she sort of liked the idea of creeping Em out a bit on her first trip down into Hell. She could always see if the papers were there in the hut, if she could convince Em to wade down the creek with her.
There's a light in her eyes as they finally get to the flat, the flat which has been their only sanctuary for so long. Ellie wonders, briefly, if the others would mind; the Kiwis had been here, soldiers, but Em was an outsider apart from military. She was pretty sure it was okay - Homer'd probably kick up some stink about it, but the others, they wouldn't have minded. (Correction: they wouldn't mind, present tense.)
Admittedly, the thought of arguing with Homer brings her a little grin. She enjoys arguing just for the sake of it, like some kind of sport. Maybe that isn't what Fang meant by 'making your own happiness', but hauling Em down here, gallavanting about in the scrub and reminiscing, that was pretty nice. It allowed for a distraction from being so angry at Jackie, even if it came in the form of scrapes and bruises, smears of mud up to her knees and chest heaving from exertion.
A few moments skip by, and she's striding forward, back into that stolen piece of home. "What do you think?"