07-09-2017, 10:52 PM
[align=center][div style="font-size:9pt; text-align:justify; padding:0px; width:380pt; line-height:125%;"]
Her fingers clench the lighter tight enough the metallic edges bite into her palm, contrasting against the gentle swipe of her thumb across the sunken texture of engraved initials. J.B. She's whispered apologies and all other forms of nonsense into the silver-sheened surface, but a lighter can't replace a person; it doesn't matter that she can still feel his hand closing over hers before going limp. It's not real. He's dead, and she's to blame for it, bulldozing forward instead of listening because she's the best at what she does. Carolina didn't think that she would have to add getting her friends and teammates killed to her list of skills, but here she is, a group of dead faces to her name and her life in shambles. In the blink of an eye, she fell from number one to complete fuck up  a nobody beginning to realize she's done more harm than good. It's too little too late, isn't it? Bitterly, Carolina smiles, the cold air nipping at her bruised and bloodied mouth. "Fucking useless." Her busted knuckles sting when she closes her fingers even tighter, but she doesn't care. It's a poor excuse for penance, and just reminds her of unfeeling bodies that won't experience anything, let alone the bite of pain.
"He'll pay for what he did to you." They're not here to hear it, but saying it gives voice to her promise, and this she can do. She will make him hurt, as they did, and then  then he will die.
First, she needs to recover. Several of her ribs are in a less-than-desirable state, and her right knee objects with each step she takes. Rehabilitation won't be spent idly; she has locations to remember, places he might go and people he might turn to if he's desperate enough. For all this, she needs a secure position somewhere he won't find her, or any of the others still kicking, who will be better off without Carolina in their lives. She's been on the move for several days now, so she can't remain alone for much longer despite how frigid a place this is to make a living. People, she's learned, have an unmatched ability to scratch out an existence in the dirt and raise it to towering buildings, much like the one in the snow some 40 feet away.
With luck, they won't be the shoot first, ask questions later type, but she's rarely lucky. Skillful, but not lucky. Carolina shoves the lighter into the pocket of her bright blue jacket, out of sight though not out of mind. She keeps walking, closing the gap between herself and the structure and fighting against the urge to limp all the while. Eventually, they'll notice the blue-clad person with bright red hair steadily growing closer, hands loose at her sides.
/reposted because i didn't want to bump
please don't feel like you have to match!
Her fingers clench the lighter tight enough the metallic edges bite into her palm, contrasting against the gentle swipe of her thumb across the sunken texture of engraved initials. J.B. She's whispered apologies and all other forms of nonsense into the silver-sheened surface, but a lighter can't replace a person; it doesn't matter that she can still feel his hand closing over hers before going limp. It's not real. He's dead, and she's to blame for it, bulldozing forward instead of listening because she's the best at what she does. Carolina didn't think that she would have to add getting her friends and teammates killed to her list of skills, but here she is, a group of dead faces to her name and her life in shambles. In the blink of an eye, she fell from number one to complete fuck up  a nobody beginning to realize she's done more harm than good. It's too little too late, isn't it? Bitterly, Carolina smiles, the cold air nipping at her bruised and bloodied mouth. "Fucking useless." Her busted knuckles sting when she closes her fingers even tighter, but she doesn't care. It's a poor excuse for penance, and just reminds her of unfeeling bodies that won't experience anything, let alone the bite of pain.
"He'll pay for what he did to you." They're not here to hear it, but saying it gives voice to her promise, and this she can do. She will make him hurt, as they did, and then  then he will die.
First, she needs to recover. Several of her ribs are in a less-than-desirable state, and her right knee objects with each step she takes. Rehabilitation won't be spent idly; she has locations to remember, places he might go and people he might turn to if he's desperate enough. For all this, she needs a secure position somewhere he won't find her, or any of the others still kicking, who will be better off without Carolina in their lives. She's been on the move for several days now, so she can't remain alone for much longer despite how frigid a place this is to make a living. People, she's learned, have an unmatched ability to scratch out an existence in the dirt and raise it to towering buildings, much like the one in the snow some 40 feet away.
With luck, they won't be the shoot first, ask questions later type, but she's rarely lucky. Skillful, but not lucky. Carolina shoves the lighter into the pocket of her bright blue jacket, out of sight though not out of mind. She keeps walking, closing the gap between herself and the structure and fighting against the urge to limp all the while. Eventually, they'll notice the blue-clad person with bright red hair steadily growing closer, hands loose at her sides.
/reposted because i didn't want to bump
please don't feel like you have to match!
[align=center][div style="font-size:8pt; text-align:center; line-height:1.4"]of things come to pass
in justice or unjust, not Time the father
of all can make the end unaccomplished.
in justice or unjust, not Time the father
of all can make the end unaccomplished.