A Childish Pleasure
He took her shirt.
It's -- it's stupid how mad that makes her, but he could have left her the dignity of not being half naked.
. . . No, he couldn't have. Because the idea is to break her, after all, isn't it?
She spent a while trying to walk through the door, or to talk the lock into letting her out, or to open her claudication pocket and see if there's anything, anything, that would help. The words to the spells won't come, though, and the lock won't listen, and -- she hates admitting it to herself, but it's true -- she's scared to do anything that will draw his attention back to her.
Kim and Trillian and Shelley drew his attention, after all, and now they're--
She's not crying, now, not really. If she's the only one left -- and even if she isn't, because it's always possible Ishamael is lying to psyche her out -- crying won't do any more good. There's nothing to do but wait.
The one-sided fight earlier, and the latest trauma, have taken more of a toll on her than she realized. The bed is starting to look--
No, not the bed. Not after what almost happened. Instead, she pulls the blanket and a pillow off the bed, wraps up, and settles into a corner. She takes a small, childish pleasure in dragging his bedding on the floor.
And then, there's nothing to do but wait, and doze fitfully, and try to ignore the niggling feeling that someone else is back in her head . . . .
It's -- it's stupid how mad that makes her, but he could have left her the dignity of not being half naked.
. . . No, he couldn't have. Because the idea is to break her, after all, isn't it?
She spent a while trying to walk through the door, or to talk the lock into letting her out, or to open her claudication pocket and see if there's anything, anything, that would help. The words to the spells won't come, though, and the lock won't listen, and -- she hates admitting it to herself, but it's true -- she's scared to do anything that will draw his attention back to her.
Kim and Trillian and Shelley drew his attention, after all, and now they're--
She's not crying, now, not really. If she's the only one left -- and even if she isn't, because it's always possible Ishamael is lying to psyche her out -- crying won't do any more good. There's nothing to do but wait.
The one-sided fight earlier, and the latest trauma, have taken more of a toll on her than she realized. The bed is starting to look--
No, not the bed. Not after what almost happened. Instead, she pulls the blanket and a pillow off the bed, wraps up, and settles into a corner. She takes a small, childish pleasure in dragging his bedding on the floor.
And then, there's nothing to do but wait, and doze fitfully, and try to ignore the niggling feeling that someone else is back in her head . . . .