(no subject)
Day: 68
Characters: Simca (swealwe) and Radu (flammenschwert) and later on, Kiric (saintiscariot)
Summary: the aftermath of when angry bfs attack.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: NIGHT: second rec. still.
Status: Closed; incomplete
It was a nightmare. A massacre. The sounds of bones snapping, of contact against floors and walls, flesh mangled and the shrieks of violence. It was embedded into her ears (replacing the sound of the ticking clock), would have been embedded in her vision if she had opened her eyes and looked. But no, she had refused to. Her hands had stayed firmly over her face as it happened, occurred, and for good reason.
She didn't need to see it happening again.
However, she caught the sound of footsteps. Caught the sound of the fight being broken up, the two being torn apart but she didn't dare close her eyes. She knew who those steps belonged to -- the careful placement, the rhythmic, yet hurried walk. But she stayed on her bench, body curled up, face still hidden. She could wait. Wait just a little longer.
Until those footsteps retreated, until there was only one presence remaining, until she knew it was safe to open her eyes and when she did, she swore she only saw red for a moment. But the blood on the walls, the floors, was enough to convince her that she had. And he was on the ground, mangled, smashed, bleeding from the face and arms and chest, and Simca let out a squeak of terror, immediately pushing herself up, only to stumble and fall. But nonetheless, she crawled that short distance towards the male, hands tracing over the head wound, biting her lower lip. If she was a Tuner, if she could still fix things -- if he was ATs, the Wind Regalia, anything, she would be able to fix him. But he wasn't.
"R-Radu... Radu..."
Characters: Simca (swealwe) and Radu (flammenschwert) and later on, Kiric (saintiscariot)
Summary: the aftermath of when angry bfs attack.
DAY/NIGHT & Time: NIGHT: second rec. still.
Status: Closed; incomplete
It was a nightmare. A massacre. The sounds of bones snapping, of contact against floors and walls, flesh mangled and the shrieks of violence. It was embedded into her ears (replacing the sound of the ticking clock), would have been embedded in her vision if she had opened her eyes and looked. But no, she had refused to. Her hands had stayed firmly over her face as it happened, occurred, and for good reason.
She didn't need to see it happening again.
However, she caught the sound of footsteps. Caught the sound of the fight being broken up, the two being torn apart but she didn't dare close her eyes. She knew who those steps belonged to -- the careful placement, the rhythmic, yet hurried walk. But she stayed on her bench, body curled up, face still hidden. She could wait. Wait just a little longer.
Until those footsteps retreated, until there was only one presence remaining, until she knew it was safe to open her eyes and when she did, she swore she only saw red for a moment. But the blood on the walls, the floors, was enough to convince her that she had. And he was on the ground, mangled, smashed, bleeding from the face and arms and chest, and Simca let out a squeak of terror, immediately pushing herself up, only to stumble and fall. But nonetheless, she crawled that short distance towards the male, hands tracing over the head wound, biting her lower lip. If she was a Tuner, if she could still fix things -- if he was ATs, the Wind Regalia, anything, she would be able to fix him. But he wasn't.
"R-Radu... Radu..."