Who: Priscilla (
honorablesecond) and Senji (
clawofsin)
When: JUNE 29. EVENING. YEAH!
Where: The street ---> HQ
Format: Prose, Present Tense.
What: Senji's ridiculous and is getting himself killed fighting too many zombies using his own blood. Priscilla goes to get him because if she doesn't, she's going to accidentally level the damn city in her worry.
Warnings: I
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Comments 22
He knew his limits. This couldn't be it. He could still go a little longer... he's sure of it. It's what pushed him away from the wall where he'd been leaning, back into the fray with slightly unsteady feet.
And when he hears something coming he doesn't think about it, much. It's more of those creatures maybe, or just his imagination, something unimportant. He thinks that right up until fresh blood hits him and the thing he was attacking suddenly isn't there anymore.
Which makes him stumble a little.
"God-- fuckin' dammit, what are you doing?" he snaps, and that's when that new sound reaches him - painfully familiar, by now, that cry - and he stops entirely. Did she just insult him?
Are her eyes ( ... )
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Now, the yoki crashes inside and outside of her like waves, stirring the air and shaking the stones underfoot. Her emotions are like waves, too - tumultuous and raging, surging. The tears fall down her cheeks, and her hands are tight fists as she moves closer to him - slowly. Her footsteps leave cracks in the stone.
She steps in front of him, within arm's length. Close enough for the glow to illuminate the veins raising along the sides of her face, and the silvery tears forming in her eyes.
"Idiot. Idiot. I can't... I can't even talk to you. I can't..." Crash. The yoki swells inside her again, hitting the area like a force bolt, stirring her hair like a gust of wind. Priscilla makes a strangled, frustrated sound and squeezes her eyes shut, forcing it down ( ... )
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In this state, the shaking ground beneath him isn't quite helping; it only serves to worsen the dizziness, even just a little, and he concentrates on keeping his balance. Focusing on that face, the weird glow of her eyes, and...
He remembers seeing her like this before. Once. Huddled in the dark and shaking the room all on her own, even as she reached out to him from the other side of it. It was something he'd never seen the likes of before, and knowing what she was holding back, had hoped he wouldn't see again.
Funny, hadn't he caused it that time, too?
The fog in his head lifts a little, and he realizes too that even just being knocked out by her like this might be fatal. This fight against them was pointless now, even if he had the strength to continue. In the back of his mind, he's sure he does, if only for a little bit, but... what did it matter at this point? The threat wasn't those creatures anymore. It was Priscilla.
He knows how to stop that creature, so he lets his ( ... )
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"And you're always calling me stupid." A little sniffle. Her voice breaks, and she kicks the ground, one last outburst of frustration. "Why would you... I don't... How--!" No. Don't think about it. She pushes down another rising wave of emotion, tries not to go down that path again and think herself into another rage, or another panic. She takes a long breath, pushes her yoki down, down... until it disappears entirely again. Snuffed out like a candle's flame. Suddenly, the streets are dark and cold again ( ... )
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Well. It does work, anyway, and beyond that he isn't thinking very hard about it. Suddenly it's as if his whole body aches out of nowhere, feeling heavy. Tired. He must have misjudged himself pretty badly this time around, and no wonder. How much of that blood on the street, on the sides of the buildings, was his?
He shakes his head a little. Right, the Headquarters. He could definitely make it there on his own, at least, and it's easier to move without the ground fucking shaking the way it was. So he kicks some more parts out of the way, and--
Okay, maybe he's not that steady just yet.
"Shit," he mutters, even though he keeps his balance. It's frustrating, and a little embarrassing, and it shows when he finally reaches a hand out to her.
"Gimme your shoulder."
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And it would be a humbling trip, if he'd been thinking about anything other than keeping Priscilla calm. She seems it, now - she isn't yelling or crying, and her voice is quiet when she suggests he rests (not that he wants to), and she doesn't say anything when all the survivors turn to look at them - he must be a mess, he thinks, just before he wonders how many people didn't survive.
Then again, maybe he shouldn't think about that.
...Luckily the journey up the steps provides more than enough distraction. He almost trips when she mentions the new occupant, in that weird apologetic way of hers.
"What? What the hell are you keeping a ghost in your room for?"
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