Panthera (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pantheraliam) wrote2030-03-12 03:03 pm
pantheraliam) wrote2030-03-12 03:03 pm
[There's a bright flash, a loud boom like a distant explosion, and then they're on the water - yes, right there, tossed into an endless, churning sea. There's no time to be shocked. Armin clings to one side of the bed - it has sides now, high enough to keep the water out, a strange, makeshift boat. Blue eyes scan the storm - for what? He turns to face Caitlyn, every trace of that easy, forced smile gone.]
There's no land...
[Whelk rolls his eyes, but at least he feels like he's not the only one.]
There's no peace.
[Dreary, even given the circumstances. He hears how miserable he sounds, how tired, always so tired, like he's just waiting to get back home and go to sleep.
[But he doesn't sleep. Peace. No...]
I look alive. You're right. But I don't do anything. Before I was here, it's not like I was anywhere else. I don't even think I'm a ghost...
There's no peace.
[Dreary, even given the circumstances. He hears how miserable he sounds, how tired, always so tired, like he's just waiting to get back home and go to sleep.
[But he doesn't sleep. Peace. No...]
I look alive. You're right. But I don't do anything. Before I was here, it's not like I was anywhere else. I don't even think I'm a ghost...
[A flash, a boom, and Caitlyn half expects to find the man on his knees with his soul torn asunder. Granted, with the way he clings, she’s not quite certain that hasn’t happened.
[Her own face could be more shocked. She takes a quick scan of the non-land, blinks off an eyeroll, and tosses the would-be rope aside.]
We’re stranded this way, then. [Similarly flippant, though—he has dropped the smile. That changes things.
[Her expression softens. Caitlyn doesn’t offer certainty where there is none, but she does reach out: a firm grip at his forearm. If he shirks she’ll withdraw, but it’s not a slow movement; it speaks for itself, she thinks. She’s steady, if nothing else.]
[“I look alive,” he says, sounding less lively than he has this entire question-conversation. He doesn’t want “pity,” as has been keenly established. So Caitlyn keeps her expression to its typical stern, and aims for the less revealing detail:]
You seem to have a clear idea what happened to you. [To cause his death.]
[Vaguely bemused huff.] Could have been sudden.
But, yes, the circumstances of your death. Why you may be trapped in this game at all.
[It sounds extremely awful, but she will keep that off her face. Instead:] Whose?
[Oh, well, that’s just unnerving. (As though the rest of this hasn’t been.) A bright blue monkey-girl swings around the bars, and Caitlyn keeps her hands off her rifle but not her eyes off the metal. Running in circles around this off-kilter display is a two-headed dog, paws red and black reaching for that loose blue tail.
[They never make contact. After a few seconds it becomes apparent the motions cycle, and neither are paying attention to anyone else. Around and around they go…
[Meanwhile, a new inhabitant has a sidequest. Large fella, bearded and squarish, leaning on an upside-down hammer. Go talk to him?]
[“Trailer trash.” Doesn’t take a detective to hear that connotation.] And did this… individual, how [if at all] did he know you?
[Really? This lady thinks the secret to Whelk passing on from this never-ending liminal Hell is to sit around and talk about Adam fucking Parrish? He almost thinks to lunge for her throat.
[Doesn't. Says:]
He was my student.
[Straight A's. Always did his homework. Terrified of losing his precious scholarship.]
[Doesn't. Says:]
He was my student.
[Straight A's. Always did his homework. Terrified of losing his precious scholarship.]
Edited 2025-06-05 05:34 (UTC)
[The interrogation has shifted from some omnipotent roll to person-to-person. Jury’s out on whether that’s preferrable.
[Without a trace of irony:] Did he ask you lots of questions? Not only regarding school. [or: Did he want to get to know you?]
[Her brow furrows deeper. How people can talk so flippantly of gross injustice, it’s—
[Besides the point. Here. Reel back. Student remains suspect but is pushed temporarily out of line.]
The sacrifice— “Not your own.” Do you know the intended cause?
[Similar exhaustion as before. Hesitance. Is that closer or further away?]
What’s a ley line?
[It's funny. For a second, he wants to cry. He looks past Caitlyn, and he doesn't look angry, nor particularly tired. He's too awake, too alive with something he'd tried for so long to stuff down. He feels tingling at the tops of his cheekbones, but that's it. He sucks on his bottom lip and tilts his head down, scratches at the back of his head.]
It's a...path. Supernatural energy. [His voice gets quieter as he speaks.] There's a convergence near the town I lived in. The sacrifice would grant control of that convergence.
It's a...path. Supernatural energy. [His voice gets quieter as he speaks.] There's a convergence near the town I lived in. The sacrifice would grant control of that convergence.
[Armin has always been unsteady, will always be unsteady, but usually, he's good at hiding it. Usually, these days, no one can tell at all.
[This woman, whoever she is, can tell. She offers her grip, and it's steady. Armin only shrinks in gratitude, nodding his head. He doesn't try to smile again. He's tired of smiling.]
We're stranded this way, then.
This is some sort of puzzle. It has to be.
[If it's not, then what? Blind torture? Armin's never been able to accept that.]
[He’s so expressive. The answer takes him somewhere, one direction or another, and though he’s not looking at her Caitlyn has to remind herself to show no pity. Who would want to be interrogated post-mortem, really…
[But he gets quieter. Involuntarily her upward stance shifts forward.
What did you want it for? [It’s not that she’s trying to sound softer. Yet, matching his volume has other effects; unintended, and for now not suppressed.]
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