(Untitled)

Dec 12, 2006 17:22

Harth massages his temples ( Read more... )

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comm_npc December 12 2006, 17:51:36 UTC
It takes a while for Katya to wake, as she's no pump, and her head took a heavy blow, but as soon as she first begins to surface to consciousness, she knows something's wrong.

She's lying on hard ground, for a start. And the light's wrong. It's unfamiliar, disorientating. So her first waking thought is actually the cliche one, and she would hate herself for it if she was capable of being objective right now.

As she blinks open her eyes, peering into the gloom, she gets no answers, partly because she's lying on her left side, and her right eye doesn't see so good.

When Katya lifts her head to clear her good eye, she instantly regrets it as a sharp pain flood throw her brain from a spot on the top of her head, and she remembers the heavy blow that knocked her out.

And then she remembers more. Lurks. A Hand over her mouth, lifting her up.

Why isn't she dead?There's little time to worry about that, though as the blur of a freshly opened eye clears and she sees who's standing in front of her ( ... )

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dreamer_fray December 12 2006, 18:01:25 UTC
Harth turns around, and his first expression is one of sympathy.

"Hit you pretty hard, must've," he says. "You've been out hours. Might not wanna sit up too sudden."

He sits down crosslegged close by, adjusting his glasses.

"Take your time."

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comm_npc December 12 2006, 18:09:15 UTC
She had indeed arrested her movement up due to the pain, but that doesn't really explain how she's here, with this kid, and not... well, dead. Katya's never heard of anyone surviving a lurk attack. Lurks don't let people survive lurk attacks.

But she's alive, and he's here, and he's not a lurk (they all look pretty distinctive).

So she does take her time, trying not to wince too visibly at the pain, she slowly pushes herself up to sit, one hand cupping her head tenderly, all previous fear of the kid dropping away with empathy.

"Where are we?"

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dreamer_fray December 12 2006, 19:09:39 UTC
"Underground," he says, tilting his head upwards.

He stays where he is, looking up. The ceiling's damp, and drips every so often. The stillness of the air lends support to the notion. It's musty, despite the size of the room.

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