Colette (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
conditionalfreedom) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
wefuckedit2019-04-05 06:31 pm
conditionalfreedom) wrote in wefuckedit2019-04-05 06:31 pm
(no subject)
They run.
They don’t make it far.
Their driver still tells them to run but they’re ten years less experienced, which means the only thing they really do for the Aegis--Aegises?--is not get in their way. They’re found out quickly. Die a lot sooner.
Not that it matters, much.
Even if they had made it to the fields of Iselia, no one would have found them. Dirk was busy today with a backlog of orders, didn’t leave the house. Lloyd was busy playing with his friends--elsewhere. Not near the fields. Not near enough to have found a dormant core crystal.
Sylvarant’s government finds them again.
Don’t resonate don’t resonate, Martel spits, desperate, in the depths of the dormancy’s sea.
She sounds—terrified, angry. Those feelings press against Colette’s own chest. She spins over herself in the ocean they swim in, tries to find Martel--finds a woman, clutching her chest, fingers digging into her arms. She’s scared.
Colette’s scared too.
They both know they didn’t make it far.
They don’t know--not for certain--who it is who picked them up, but--
Don’t even risk it, Martel says, teeth bared. Don’t even try.
(In another world, another lifetime, she would have tasted the almost-Kratos pull of Lloyd’s ether, and would have been less adamant about refusing a resonance.)
Colette clutches at her own chest, crosses her arms against Martel’s intrusive fear.
But, she begins, how will we escape if we’re dormant?
(tick. tick. tick.)
Martel laughs. Bitter. It’s unlikely she’s missed the irony of this--just hours ago Colette had locked up terrified, too scared to leave, and now Colette’s the one suggesting they do something while Martel insists they stay put?
Trust me, Martel says. If the wrong people have us... if we wake up...
Normally, she holds the memories back, where Colette cannot see them. But she’s angry and she’s scared and so she decides to be a little cruel. Pulls back the curtain on her worst memories.
(strapped down wires in her ether pulling pulling pulling a pain that never fucking stopped)
Colette cries against the feel of it, curls in on herself, the swiftness of the action and the pain sending her spiraling through this ocean of sleep, head buried in her knees as Martel watches, vindicated, her feelings still too-sharp, too-bitter.
It’s better if we don’t wake up, Martel says. Better we stay here forever, than--
Okay, Colette agrees, weakly.
The curious touch of another’s ether probes at them anyway. A request. A demand.
(Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.)
You have to ignore it, Martel says.
Instead of crying that she’s trying, she is, Colette just bites her tongue and keeps her mouth shut. That’s what Martel wants from her, isn’t it? To be quiet. Be good. Do as told.
(Tick tick
Tick tick tick tick
Ticktickticktickticktick--)
She resonates.
When they wake up, it’s in the cannon.
They don’t make it far.
Their driver still tells them to run but they’re ten years less experienced, which means the only thing they really do for the Aegis--Aegises?--is not get in their way. They’re found out quickly. Die a lot sooner.
Not that it matters, much.
Even if they had made it to the fields of Iselia, no one would have found them. Dirk was busy today with a backlog of orders, didn’t leave the house. Lloyd was busy playing with his friends--elsewhere. Not near the fields. Not near enough to have found a dormant core crystal.
Sylvarant’s government finds them again.
Don’t resonate don’t resonate, Martel spits, desperate, in the depths of the dormancy’s sea.
She sounds—terrified, angry. Those feelings press against Colette’s own chest. She spins over herself in the ocean they swim in, tries to find Martel--finds a woman, clutching her chest, fingers digging into her arms. She’s scared.
Colette’s scared too.
They both know they didn’t make it far.
They don’t know--not for certain--who it is who picked them up, but--
Don’t even risk it, Martel says, teeth bared. Don’t even try.
(In another world, another lifetime, she would have tasted the almost-Kratos pull of Lloyd’s ether, and would have been less adamant about refusing a resonance.)
Colette clutches at her own chest, crosses her arms against Martel’s intrusive fear.
But, she begins, how will we escape if we’re dormant?
(tick. tick. tick.)
Martel laughs. Bitter. It’s unlikely she’s missed the irony of this--just hours ago Colette had locked up terrified, too scared to leave, and now Colette’s the one suggesting they do something while Martel insists they stay put?
Trust me, Martel says. If the wrong people have us... if we wake up...
Normally, she holds the memories back, where Colette cannot see them. But she’s angry and she’s scared and so she decides to be a little cruel. Pulls back the curtain on her worst memories.
(strapped down wires in her ether pulling pulling pulling a pain that never fucking stopped)
Colette cries against the feel of it, curls in on herself, the swiftness of the action and the pain sending her spiraling through this ocean of sleep, head buried in her knees as Martel watches, vindicated, her feelings still too-sharp, too-bitter.
It’s better if we don’t wake up, Martel says. Better we stay here forever, than--
Okay, Colette agrees, weakly.
The curious touch of another’s ether probes at them anyway. A request. A demand.
(Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.)
You have to ignore it, Martel says.
Instead of crying that she’s trying, she is, Colette just bites her tongue and keeps her mouth shut. That’s what Martel wants from her, isn’t it? To be quiet. Be good. Do as told.
(Tick tick
Tick tick tick tick
Ticktickticktickticktick--)
She resonates.
When they wake up, it’s in the cannon.