mental link // S72

[servitor]

DIASPEIREIN To scatter, spread about.	MELIORISM The belief that the world gets better.
ORIFLAMME A symbol or standard that inspires confidence, devotion, or courage.	VANGUARD The troops moving at the head of an army.

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[sistershoggoth]

[ She's breathing heavily under the cover of the robes, but she nods, because that's all she can think of to do: just get the fuck out of here. Yeah, every once in a while it was quiet enough in the tents to roll around with Shepard for a bit, but there was no real privacy. There was no really getting away from this. She grabs him by the hand and pulls. She feels like if she doesn't have his hand in hers she can't focus, she won't make it before she just loses her fucking mind.

But she's always doing that. Grabbing on and anchoring into her brood so that she doesn't just float away, or spread herself out too far and damage everyone, herself included. She still feels like the boys got a raw fucking deal with her, but that's not what's on her mind right now.

All the matter is getting far enough away from everything so she can rip this fucking cloak off and smash her fists into something. Maybe even him, whatever. She'll take whatever she can get. ]

[servitor]

[And so he leads, on and on, past tents, past guards, to an area close enough to not cause suspicion, far enough that most wouldn't really venture out for any reason.

The focus it takes for him to remain composed is immense. Annie's rage is bleeding into him, in a way that he feels like he's reaching out, bleeding, searching, curling into weird shapes that are so beyond foreign to him. There's an animalistic snarl, electricity crackling and jumping across fur and claws.]

( I think we're good. )

[His speech is clipped as to not snap. Still, he doesn't let go of her, until she decides to let go of him.]

[sistershoggoth]

[ The only reason she breaks physical contact is to rip off her costume. Throwing the whole mess into a heap and stomping on it a few times. Beneath the costume, she actually looks like a military woman for once. Her clothes fit, simple and utilitarian, and the sleeveless top actually shows how muscular she really is, something usually hidden by her ill-fitting trash wear.

She stands there slouched over for a moment, breathing hard, shoulders contracting and expanding up and down before she looks over her shoulder at him. Her brows are pinched and her mouth is a hard line.

She shouldn't. She shouldn't take it out on him. What kind of way was that to treat a friend, an ally, a broodmate. She tenses her jaw. He's alight with it too now, and she can't quite decide whether its her fault, like a fucking infection, or if he was just handling it better until she came and lit the paper. She wants to say something, maybe somehow give him fucking fair warning like he doesn't have the sense to understand her by now--

But she can't just say nothing. ]

Whoever starts bleeding first loses.