obliviousally (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obliviousally) wrote2022-08-03 12:16 pm
obliviousally) wrote2022-08-03 12:16 pm
Entry tags:
[fic] chop something up and move on
rolled a hunter in destiny, i really wanted the new solstice hunter armor and i had an empty slot lol. sort of re-working angel for that universe, including her Very Important Character Plot Point of murdering her partner (her sire, originally. ~diablerie~)
she's a lot more guarded than og angel, a decent bit paranoid, and definitely trauma-rattled from whatever happened in both the time up to having to put her partner down (and his ghost agreeing with the act, and purposely not rezzing him...) and the act of doing so and dealing with the aftermath. AND the anxiety/stress of returning to the city and the tower knowing that black mark is on her and someone may find out eventually
there's a lot of ~unknowns~ with her rn b/c her whole deal is that she wanted to explore places and her and her partner spent a lot of time on what would become their home turf over in the americas/canada and near old chicago. destiny doesn't have lore for that, so it's fun to keep thing vague b/c who fuckin' knows what could be happening there that's not in game or lore yet
anyhow, content warning for implied murder, blood mention. i may flesh this out more, but for now, i'm chucking it here
she presses the handle of a knife into my palm.
“And when all else fails, my love,”
she says,
“Chop something up and move on.”
🔗
My hands were shaking and they wouldn’t stop. I kept trying to hold them, to tighten the fingers on my right hand around my left wrist, as though pure force could stop the involuntary movement. I tried bracing them on the ground, but it was wet and slippery.
The tremors ran up my arms, it felt like my soul, or whatever, was going to vibrate clean out of my pores, seep out of my skin and sink into the dewy pre-sunrise grass. It would spread out into the earth like rain, becoming one with the streams and the lakes and impossible to gather back up where it belongs
My soul - or whatever it was, whatever was left - stayed inside my skin.
But the blood…
There was so much blood. Was there always this much blood when someone died? Every enemy I ever cut down– it never seemed like there was…this much
“You….you did the right thing…”
A voice, not my own, yanked me out of my thoughts and I broke my thousand yard stare from the body in front of me to look up. Two small lights, shells tight - tense - around both of them as they shared a mutual glance.
My expression felt desperate, hearing what sounded like hesitation in their tone.
“You’re sure?”
“It was the only thing you could’ve done, you did him a mercy”
I looked back at the body, my brutality becoming more visible with the dawning of a new day. I thought, in the light, maybe he would look peaceful, maybe that alone would give me some peace. But he still looked wrong and I felt nauseous.
Despite the shaking, I pushed myself up to my feet. There was so much blood. It stained my clothing, my hands, my bare feet in the clover grass.
“We need to do something about his body.”
she's a lot more guarded than og angel, a decent bit paranoid, and definitely trauma-rattled from whatever happened in both the time up to having to put her partner down (and his ghost agreeing with the act, and purposely not rezzing him...) and the act of doing so and dealing with the aftermath. AND the anxiety/stress of returning to the city and the tower knowing that black mark is on her and someone may find out eventually
there's a lot of ~unknowns~ with her rn b/c her whole deal is that she wanted to explore places and her and her partner spent a lot of time on what would become their home turf over in the americas/canada and near old chicago. destiny doesn't have lore for that, so it's fun to keep thing vague b/c who fuckin' knows what could be happening there that's not in game or lore yet
anyhow, content warning for implied murder, blood mention. i may flesh this out more, but for now, i'm chucking it here
she presses the handle of a knife into my palm.
“And when all else fails, my love,”
she says,
“Chop something up and move on.”
🔗
My hands were shaking and they wouldn’t stop. I kept trying to hold them, to tighten the fingers on my right hand around my left wrist, as though pure force could stop the involuntary movement. I tried bracing them on the ground, but it was wet and slippery.
The tremors ran up my arms, it felt like my soul, or whatever, was going to vibrate clean out of my pores, seep out of my skin and sink into the dewy pre-sunrise grass. It would spread out into the earth like rain, becoming one with the streams and the lakes and impossible to gather back up where it belongs
My soul - or whatever it was, whatever was left - stayed inside my skin.
But the blood…
There was so much blood. Was there always this much blood when someone died? Every enemy I ever cut down– it never seemed like there was…this much
“You….you did the right thing…”
A voice, not my own, yanked me out of my thoughts and I broke my thousand yard stare from the body in front of me to look up. Two small lights, shells tight - tense - around both of them as they shared a mutual glance.
My expression felt desperate, hearing what sounded like hesitation in their tone.
“You’re sure?”
“It was the only thing you could’ve done, you did him a mercy”
I looked back at the body, my brutality becoming more visible with the dawning of a new day. I thought, in the light, maybe he would look peaceful, maybe that alone would give me some peace. But he still looked wrong and I felt nauseous.
Despite the shaking, I pushed myself up to my feet. There was so much blood. It stained my clothing, my hands, my bare feet in the clover grass.
“We need to do something about his body.”