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overjoyed_logs2017-03-15 11:36 pm
brickinthewall) wrote in overjoyed_logs2017-03-15 11:36 pm
Entry tags:
[open] Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
Who: Hanna King and you
Where: Westerley underbelly
When: W8D1
Summary: Hanna's terrible life
Restrictions/Warnings: Hanna's terrible life including experimentation, violence, and so on
[Level 5.
That's where she needs to go.
Level 5, the ultimate clearance, the ultimate tool in her arsenal. It's the means to her bloody end. She has to get there, somehow, in some way. She doesn't care how.
It'll be just another way to find the answers she needs.
Hanna skips out on the standard training protocols. That shit's cake. She's here again, in a cage, knuckles cut, spitting strings of blood. When was the last time she'd pushed herself this hard? Who knows. Who cares.
Too many punches to the head and the face have her reeling, speaking slurred, seeing things, too many things, all kinds of things. The bruise on her temple is growing and throbbing. It's only by force that she leaves the enclosed arena, to sit on the sidelines closer to the audience with a beer in her hand. The cold bottle is pressed to the wound. Maybe you've been watching, and maybe you're close enough to see a thing or two firsthand.
She struggles, too, to walk out of the arena, towards empty back exits. She can feel her consciousness slipping. Where is she again? Is what she seeing real anymore?]
Where: Westerley underbelly
When: W8D1
Summary: Hanna's terrible life
Restrictions/Warnings: Hanna's terrible life including experimentation, violence, and so on
[Level 5.
That's where she needs to go.
Level 5, the ultimate clearance, the ultimate tool in her arsenal. It's the means to her bloody end. She has to get there, somehow, in some way. She doesn't care how.
It'll be just another way to find the answers she needs.
Hanna skips out on the standard training protocols. That shit's cake. She's here again, in a cage, knuckles cut, spitting strings of blood. When was the last time she'd pushed herself this hard? Who knows. Who cares.
Too many punches to the head and the face have her reeling, speaking slurred, seeing things, too many things, all kinds of things. The bruise on her temple is growing and throbbing. It's only by force that she leaves the enclosed arena, to sit on the sidelines closer to the audience with a beer in her hand. The cold bottle is pressed to the wound. Maybe you've been watching, and maybe you're close enough to see a thing or two firsthand.
She struggles, too, to walk out of the arena, towards empty back exits. She can feel her consciousness slipping. Where is she again? Is what she seeing real anymore?]
no subject
Whether or not this was the work of her own power was up to debate, considering he's never seen it at work, so he moves his shoulders in a half-shrug.
So long as he doesn't get hurt then... whatever. And he supposes that any more pain directed towards her would put him in a little sour mood; so when he approaches his hand doesn't lift with a single intention of causing malice, palm exposed for her. ]
And where should I take you? [ It's a question that deserves answering, considering he's lost as well. ] Where is home to you, Hanna?
no subject
Home.]
I don't have a home.
[The sterile white, the blue aura, starts to shift and fade into the darkness of the arena. It's brief, warping in and out, the same way Hanna is coming in and out of consciousness.
Sixteen, twenty-nine, sixteen again, and she's suddenly spitting blood from her mouth. One too many hits to the mouth and face. It's not much, thankfully.]
Just get me out, please. Anywhere but here. Or Leith. [She can't even beg to go home, not like she used to as a child when she was tired and fussy and bratty.]
no subject
[ He sighs, moving closer as he reaches out and grabs her by the shoulder somewhere in the midst of her changing between ages. There's a hint of sympathy—not bitterness or rage, and it mixes with loneliness and Crowley can't say that this feeling is at all unfamiliar... but it still feels distant, like he hasn't felt this way in years.
(He hasn't.) ]
Then you'll come with me. You'll live a new life.
Is that what you want?
no subject
She could melt his face together if it came to it, and then keep running and running until she couldn't run anymore.]
Yes.
[Is it sad that she's so desperate? Probably.]
no subject
It's a rare occasion, if ever, for him to feel an ounce of sympathy towards anyone. But the emotions that he can't quite describe are genuine. He can tell because he's not forcing them, they're real, and he reaches down to tug at her hand. ]
Alright.
[ ... This is so weird. But you kind of gotta take responsibility of someone after you killed a man in order to keep them from getting harmed. ]
I'll take care of you. [ What he feels isn't possessiveness but the desire to protect. ] I swear on it.
no subject
Is she still dreaming? Remembering? Is any of this a hallucination, or is it real?
She searches him, the man with the two-toned hair that she knows she's seen before, but she's too damn addled to put it together.]
How?
[Her voice is thin and small, so unlike her usual demeanor. None of this could be remotely real. All of this is just some sad form of desperation.
She tells herself this, because this is what's become of her.]
no subject
... Well I don't know I just tore a man's arm off.
[ So that's how, if you want to put in the physical sense. However he realizes that she's possibly meaning more than that and to be honest... he doesn't know how to answer her. ]
I guess we'll just have to find out.
no subject
... Such a gentleman.
[Dimly, she realizes this the most she's felt in... months or even years, beyond pure rage and incredible sadness, and the never ending need to protect what little she has.]
no subject
I try. [ Not really. ] But leave the passing out for when it doesn't require me carrying you, alright?
no subject
She manages a grin, despite literally everything.] You weirdo.
[Whether it's her slipping consciousness, or whatever else she's not in the state of mind to address, she finds herself...
She can't even make herself admit it. The young, naive girl that had been Hanna Talbot hadn't been buried far enough, hadn't been killed well enough to call herself dead.
And so the grin starts to falter, her eyes start to flicker.] Well I have to go pass out somewhere else besides here. So if you'll excuse me...
[And clearly she's not going very far as she quite nearly loses her balance. Nice.]
no subject
She's gonna die without his help, he presumes, so his assistance comes with a heavy sigh as he again breaks the distance between them and promptly scoops her up into his arms. ]
You're a real mess, I guess I just have to carry you now.
no subject
[She'd fight the carry if she had more strength in her, but she's fresh out of literally everything.]
Just get me out of here, buff man.
[Translation: she doesn't give a damn to where he takes her. She just wants to sleep.]