Haz.
Mask? I wear no mask.
Justîse Deshaies| Status: Healthy |
| Equipment: Surgical Kit, Val's Blood |
| Rituals: Sehen |
| Souls: 0.3 |
| Interacting: Reiner Braun ( Centurion_ ) |
There it was. The Executor bit her lip - she was half-hoping he wouldn't ask that, if only because to answer it meant to give up the comfort of his immediate self-security. After all that happened, the last thing she needed was to start prodding his mental stability. But alas, it was inevitable; better to bite the bullet now than later.
Draw a deep sigh. Cut the smile, knit the brow, regain posture. Justîse cast a glance aside, taking her arm into grip and rubbing along the bicep. What gestures she expressed were brusque and controlled, turning selectively mild-mannered. In a sense it almost felt rehearsed, but so compellingly that one might've forgotten that fact altogether. "I'm not sure myself. We arrived here this morning; you, I and several others like us. This place seems to take people on the brink of death, like... some sort of nexus between worlds, I suppose. Whatever occurred to you back home seemed to have taken a toll on you, because you began showing severe symptoms of a stress disorder."
A soft pause. As she moved to his side, her gaze fell low. "I wasn't there when it happened. You were in your room when I heard the gunshot. The windows were shut, your door was locked, and the only round in the chamber had just been fired. Really, the only person who could've done this to you..."
Then she looked to meet him dead in the eyes, and the farce dropped. Cold, animatronic. The glisten in her gaze turned dull. "Rip off the bandaid" as it went.
"... is you, Captain."
| Equipment: Surgical Kit, Val's Blood |
| Rituals: Sehen |
| Souls: 0.3 |
| Interacting: Reiner Braun ( Centurion_ ) |
There it was. The Executor bit her lip - she was half-hoping he wouldn't ask that, if only because to answer it meant to give up the comfort of his immediate self-security. After all that happened, the last thing she needed was to start prodding his mental stability. But alas, it was inevitable; better to bite the bullet now than later.
Draw a deep sigh. Cut the smile, knit the brow, regain posture. Justîse cast a glance aside, taking her arm into grip and rubbing along the bicep. What gestures she expressed were brusque and controlled, turning selectively mild-mannered. In a sense it almost felt rehearsed, but so compellingly that one might've forgotten that fact altogether. "I'm not sure myself. We arrived here this morning; you, I and several others like us. This place seems to take people on the brink of death, like... some sort of nexus between worlds, I suppose. Whatever occurred to you back home seemed to have taken a toll on you, because you began showing severe symptoms of a stress disorder."
A soft pause. As she moved to his side, her gaze fell low. "I wasn't there when it happened. You were in your room when I heard the gunshot. The windows were shut, your door was locked, and the only round in the chamber had just been fired. Really, the only person who could've done this to you..."
Then she looked to meet him dead in the eyes, and the farce dropped. Cold, animatronic. The glisten in her gaze turned dull. "Rip off the bandaid" as it went.
"... is you, Captain."