[ She's pleased, not just to get what she wants, but to be understood in wanting it. Sex is a medicine that eases a constant miserable longing in her. Too much adrenaline and your body starts to crave it all the time, that's what the soldier types are going to identify with the most in her. That same hunger, though, it's also the way she craves liquor and chemicals, the way she craves to be free of her skin, to once more feel the expansive power and thought of her true self. A whole distant world, wet and dense and dark, murky waters swirling beneath strangle colored mist, heavy with ice crystals...
This human body is easier to tolerate when it's overflowing. With pain, with exertion, with lust. That's what's on her mind as she takes the permission she's gotten. The promise of not having to think for a little bit, of using up the energy that winds her tight all the time: dissatisfaction, guilt, anxiety, her own manic desperation to fight through it.
Her initial approach is unpleasant. The space right before you turn and really look at her, she could be any number of horrible things, but like the jump scare in a movie, it's always just her. Petite and pale with that big ugly scar raised into her chest, faded pink and purple at the edges. She's been wrapping herself up in compression bandages to contain the symbiote slime that won't stop exposing what a rotted thing she is on the inside. She hates it, she's worn a bra all of never and finds the thing oppressive. She also leaves it exactly the way it is when she comes to find him, kicks off her boots somewhere in the halls and steps out of her cargo pants somewhere in the doorway. The spray from the shower flecks grey across the white fabric of the wrap, makes her hair frizz, but she gives him the same roguish sideways grin that appeared on her face after she asked him who the fuck he was. ]
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Date: 2017-05-16 03:38 am (UTC)This human body is easier to tolerate when it's overflowing. With pain, with exertion, with lust. That's what's on her mind as she takes the permission she's gotten. The promise of not having to think for a little bit, of using up the energy that winds her tight all the time: dissatisfaction, guilt, anxiety, her own manic desperation to fight through it.
Her initial approach is unpleasant. The space right before you turn and really look at her, she could be any number of horrible things, but like the jump scare in a movie, it's always just her. Petite and pale with that big ugly scar raised into her chest, faded pink and purple at the edges. She's been wrapping herself up in compression bandages to contain the symbiote slime that won't stop exposing what a rotted thing she is on the inside. She hates it, she's worn a bra all of never and finds the thing oppressive. She also leaves it exactly the way it is when she comes to find him, kicks off her boots somewhere in the halls and steps out of her cargo pants somewhere in the doorway. The spray from the shower flecks grey across the white fabric of the wrap, makes her hair frizz, but she gives him the same roguish sideways grin that appeared on her face after she asked him who the fuck he was. ]
C'mere, I promise to bite a little.