there's too much confusion
WHO: Kara Thrace.
WHERE: Kara's apartment, and then a park.
WHEN: 17/12, midday.
WARNINGS: Frak.
SUMMARY: Kara discovers one of her powers.
FORMAT: Solo!
Kara cuts her own hair, stood over the taps that splutter out hot, cold, and then never manage to find a middle ground. She takes the knife she keeps strapped to her ankle, and cuts away what she can. There isn't much to begin with; barely enough to pull into a ponytail, but still enough to distract her. She likes having it shorter, because it's easier to manage, and she doesn't have to pretend to make any effort with it.
Once she's brushed the stray strands of hair from her face, Kara uses the same knife on her pilot suit. She cuts the military crest from the left shoulder, tears the fabric more than she means to, and then glues it to the corner of the mirror. That, coupled with her own face, is the first thing she sees every morning. BSG-75, a jagged haircut, and nobody to salute to. It's another reminder of home, and it only makes things worse.
She doesn't miss home. Never has. Caprica was a planet where she just so happened to have an apartment, and all that's left there now are paintings across walls that nobody will ever lay their eyes on to decipher, and a half-smoked box of cigars. Galactica she misses; the fear and the flying and the uncertainty, and the way that it all happened so fast, hit so hard, that it seemed natural. Like the only way things had ever been.
In this world, everything's slowed down. That's why she wakes up with a hangover every morning, smokes in place of breakfast, and then pulls on her tank tops, not particularly caring how many days in a row she's worn them. She wrings them out in the sink, every now and again, because washing powder wasn't exactly easy to come across on the last godsdamn military ship in the universe. She's learnt to live without it.
Kara leaves the apartment, and then she runs. She runs through the streets, still put on edge by the sheer number of people around her. For their sake and her own, she prays that they truly are humans, but doesn't trust a single one of them. She runs across roads, narrowly avoiding on-coming traffic, and when she gets to the park, she runs harder still. It doesn't do much to get her heart pounding.
People avoid her, make way as she runs across the paths. They always have. A whole universe away, and some things have yet to change. Kara's so focused on running, on not worrying about how she's going to fill the empty hours that have yet to come, that at first she doesn't notice anything strange. Nothing that she isn't already looking out for, anyway.
She's listening to the sound of her own heavy breathing and the crying child she's just passed, so she doesn't notice the way the ground suddenly isn't so hard beneath her feet. It's three seconds later when she's kicking air that Kara looks down, and then her thoughts halt and screech, because she can't remember how to stop running. Even if she could, it wouldn't help; Kara isn't running any more.
Kara kicks her legs, like she's swimming without the water, and her thoughts come out as frakfrakfrakfrakfrak. Feeling herself struggle for reasons she can't pinpoint, she watches the ground move further and further away from her feet, and she can't pick out one god in particular to pray to. It's as if the earth is moving away from her, rather than vice-versa.
“Frak me,” she says, and then repeats herself over and over again. Powers-people had been talking about powers, but Kara hadn't put any stock in any of that. She'd written it off as nonsense, possibly drug-induced, but now she wishes she'd paid more attention. She's thirty, maybe forty, feet up, and everything's getting smaller and smaller.
She almost wants to laugh. She's missed flying, there's no mistaking that, but something about this is very wrong. She's not the pilot, in this situation; she's the aircraft itself. It's around that point that Kara realises she doesn't know how to keep herself in the air, and when she actively focuses on kicking her legs and hoping it'll keep her airborne, all of a sudden, it doesn't work any more.
It stops working, and Kara can't figure out how to pull up, or how to land. There's no damn suspension system wired into her legs. I'm hit, I'm hit, she wants to scream out, but there's no one listening, and she hasn't taken fire, and then the ground beneath her is looking frakking close.
WHERE: Kara's apartment, and then a park.
WHEN: 17/12, midday.
WARNINGS: Frak.
SUMMARY: Kara discovers one of her powers.
FORMAT: Solo!
Kara cuts her own hair, stood over the taps that splutter out hot, cold, and then never manage to find a middle ground. She takes the knife she keeps strapped to her ankle, and cuts away what she can. There isn't much to begin with; barely enough to pull into a ponytail, but still enough to distract her. She likes having it shorter, because it's easier to manage, and she doesn't have to pretend to make any effort with it.
Once she's brushed the stray strands of hair from her face, Kara uses the same knife on her pilot suit. She cuts the military crest from the left shoulder, tears the fabric more than she means to, and then glues it to the corner of the mirror. That, coupled with her own face, is the first thing she sees every morning. BSG-75, a jagged haircut, and nobody to salute to. It's another reminder of home, and it only makes things worse.
She doesn't miss home. Never has. Caprica was a planet where she just so happened to have an apartment, and all that's left there now are paintings across walls that nobody will ever lay their eyes on to decipher, and a half-smoked box of cigars. Galactica she misses; the fear and the flying and the uncertainty, and the way that it all happened so fast, hit so hard, that it seemed natural. Like the only way things had ever been.
In this world, everything's slowed down. That's why she wakes up with a hangover every morning, smokes in place of breakfast, and then pulls on her tank tops, not particularly caring how many days in a row she's worn them. She wrings them out in the sink, every now and again, because washing powder wasn't exactly easy to come across on the last godsdamn military ship in the universe. She's learnt to live without it.
Kara leaves the apartment, and then she runs. She runs through the streets, still put on edge by the sheer number of people around her. For their sake and her own, she prays that they truly are humans, but doesn't trust a single one of them. She runs across roads, narrowly avoiding on-coming traffic, and when she gets to the park, she runs harder still. It doesn't do much to get her heart pounding.
People avoid her, make way as she runs across the paths. They always have. A whole universe away, and some things have yet to change. Kara's so focused on running, on not worrying about how she's going to fill the empty hours that have yet to come, that at first she doesn't notice anything strange. Nothing that she isn't already looking out for, anyway.
She's listening to the sound of her own heavy breathing and the crying child she's just passed, so she doesn't notice the way the ground suddenly isn't so hard beneath her feet. It's three seconds later when she's kicking air that Kara looks down, and then her thoughts halt and screech, because she can't remember how to stop running. Even if she could, it wouldn't help; Kara isn't running any more.
Kara kicks her legs, like she's swimming without the water, and her thoughts come out as frakfrakfrakfrakfrak. Feeling herself struggle for reasons she can't pinpoint, she watches the ground move further and further away from her feet, and she can't pick out one god in particular to pray to. It's as if the earth is moving away from her, rather than vice-versa.
“Frak me,” she says, and then repeats herself over and over again. Powers-people had been talking about powers, but Kara hadn't put any stock in any of that. She'd written it off as nonsense, possibly drug-induced, but now she wishes she'd paid more attention. She's thirty, maybe forty, feet up, and everything's getting smaller and smaller.
She almost wants to laugh. She's missed flying, there's no mistaking that, but something about this is very wrong. She's not the pilot, in this situation; she's the aircraft itself. It's around that point that Kara realises she doesn't know how to keep herself in the air, and when she actively focuses on kicking her legs and hoping it'll keep her airborne, all of a sudden, it doesn't work any more.
It stops working, and Kara can't figure out how to pull up, or how to land. There's no damn suspension system wired into her legs. I'm hit, I'm hit, she wants to scream out, but there's no one listening, and she hasn't taken fire, and then the ground beneath her is looking frakking close.