cranboggles
Junior Member
@StoneWolf18
You pause and reflexively try to seek out and correct whatever's paining you. Your arm jostles and you hear a quiet pop, accompanied by a jolt of pain that makes the prior sensation look mild in comparison. That's not good.
You can still move your fingers and there's no sign of bruising or bleeding, so that's good at least, but just the effort it takes to try and seek out the damage leaves your head spinning. The throb of your strained arm comes in waves, ebbing and flowing to the beat of your pulse. A twinge of phantom pain starts up in your prosthetic but fades blissfully quickly. One problem at a time seems to be all your body is willing to process.
Though logic and apprehension tells you to push forward, your vision is starting to go soft around the edges, prompting you to lean against a wall for support. Disjointed and disoriented, your gaze wanders back to one of the planters below you. Your state makes the smell of soil seem sharper to you, and as you try to focus, you could swear you see something sinister in the dirt. Your pain-addled brain turns gardens into graveyards, and shutting your eyes against it all suddenly seems like a very good option.
Voices. Footsteps. Shuffling bodies crowded around. They are looming figures in your eyes, which is how you know you're no longer standing. Someone cries out. Something lifts you up. Rising. Falling. Rising again. Like a wave.
You are brought, aching and unable to tell vision from dream, into a smaller room, laid out before a young woman about your age with a soft, pale face and kind eyes. She looks like an angel. No, really, that's not a metaphor, she has- well, you're probably still hallucinating or something, right? You close your eyes again.
@WaffleReaper, @Yoruko Katsumi
You run into one another in Goose's room and catch each other up on your respective situations as much as you dare. There seems to be a distance between you two. You speak and share to a degree, but where yesterday circumstances brought you together, today holds you at arms length so to speak, both parties flighty and nervous from what they've heard, what they've seen.
However you still share a common goal and a common desire to stay safe as your involvement with the Brood begins to take a dark turn. That you still sought each other out even with doubt creeping in shows character, or else desperation. On that note, you are still two-thirds of a party. You see that your alliance so recently assembled is already starting to unravel. Are you content to let this happen? Keep looking out for number one, or try to piece this ragtag trio back together?
You try to find Goose and Flycatcher for a while, but come up empty-handed. You get the feeling that there's something your partner here isn't telling you, but you're not sure if you're ready to confront her on it yet. After all, you're not exactly being totally honest either. Eventually, you part ways, perhaps feeling put off by the secrecy, or maybe you just think you'd be better off on your own right now.
Many of the other fledglings, you find, have done just the opposite, latching onto one another in close knit groups. They mostly seem satisfied- well, as much as they can be- to go about their day as normally as they can manage, trusting that someone else will work out whatever's gone wrong around here. If any others are investigating, you haven't noticed. It's unnerving how complacent some people can be, but hey, you don't know their lives, so you can't judge. After all, anyone with sense knows what sticking your neck out gets you in this city. To stand out, to make waves, to split seams is a dangerous persuasion, but you can't help but feel somewhere deep down that it has to be you to do it. The things you've seen and done are not meaningless. They indicate a greater purpose, or else at least something more than waiting around like sitting ducks. You have to believe you're not meant for that.
By evening you've lost track of your odd partner in crime, and you never do find Nightjar either. Of the three of you she's the most solitary it seems. You hold onto this thought to keep from worry. You settle in for the night, less to sleep and more to fake it until morning and whatever new news it may bring, and though while you're here you're never not surrounded by dozing fledglings, you find yourself feeling strangely alone.
- End Day 2 -
You pause and reflexively try to seek out and correct whatever's paining you. Your arm jostles and you hear a quiet pop, accompanied by a jolt of pain that makes the prior sensation look mild in comparison. That's not good.
You can still move your fingers and there's no sign of bruising or bleeding, so that's good at least, but just the effort it takes to try and seek out the damage leaves your head spinning. The throb of your strained arm comes in waves, ebbing and flowing to the beat of your pulse. A twinge of phantom pain starts up in your prosthetic but fades blissfully quickly. One problem at a time seems to be all your body is willing to process.
Though logic and apprehension tells you to push forward, your vision is starting to go soft around the edges, prompting you to lean against a wall for support. Disjointed and disoriented, your gaze wanders back to one of the planters below you. Your state makes the smell of soil seem sharper to you, and as you try to focus, you could swear you see something sinister in the dirt. Your pain-addled brain turns gardens into graveyards, and shutting your eyes against it all suddenly seems like a very good option.
Voices. Footsteps. Shuffling bodies crowded around. They are looming figures in your eyes, which is how you know you're no longer standing. Someone cries out. Something lifts you up. Rising. Falling. Rising again. Like a wave.
You are brought, aching and unable to tell vision from dream, into a smaller room, laid out before a young woman about your age with a soft, pale face and kind eyes. She looks like an angel. No, really, that's not a metaphor, she has- well, you're probably still hallucinating or something, right? You close your eyes again.
@WaffleReaper, @Yoruko Katsumi
You run into one another in Goose's room and catch each other up on your respective situations as much as you dare. There seems to be a distance between you two. You speak and share to a degree, but where yesterday circumstances brought you together, today holds you at arms length so to speak, both parties flighty and nervous from what they've heard, what they've seen.
However you still share a common goal and a common desire to stay safe as your involvement with the Brood begins to take a dark turn. That you still sought each other out even with doubt creeping in shows character, or else desperation. On that note, you are still two-thirds of a party. You see that your alliance so recently assembled is already starting to unravel. Are you content to let this happen? Keep looking out for number one, or try to piece this ragtag trio back together?
You try to find Goose and Flycatcher for a while, but come up empty-handed. You get the feeling that there's something your partner here isn't telling you, but you're not sure if you're ready to confront her on it yet. After all, you're not exactly being totally honest either. Eventually, you part ways, perhaps feeling put off by the secrecy, or maybe you just think you'd be better off on your own right now.
Many of the other fledglings, you find, have done just the opposite, latching onto one another in close knit groups. They mostly seem satisfied- well, as much as they can be- to go about their day as normally as they can manage, trusting that someone else will work out whatever's gone wrong around here. If any others are investigating, you haven't noticed. It's unnerving how complacent some people can be, but hey, you don't know their lives, so you can't judge. After all, anyone with sense knows what sticking your neck out gets you in this city. To stand out, to make waves, to split seams is a dangerous persuasion, but you can't help but feel somewhere deep down that it has to be you to do it. The things you've seen and done are not meaningless. They indicate a greater purpose, or else at least something more than waiting around like sitting ducks. You have to believe you're not meant for that.
By evening you've lost track of your odd partner in crime, and you never do find Nightjar either. Of the three of you she's the most solitary it seems. You hold onto this thought to keep from worry. You settle in for the night, less to sleep and more to fake it until morning and whatever new news it may bring, and though while you're here you're never not surrounded by dozing fledglings, you find yourself feeling strangely alone.
- End Day 2 -