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31_days2010-01-22 05:33 pm
cofmanynames.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2010-01-22 05:33 pm
[January 22] [Original] I Guess These Are Strange Eons Then
Title: I Guess These Are Strange Eons Then
Day / Theme: January 22: error and truth are uncertainly blended
Series: Original [ifupdown]
Character / Pairing: Daisy, the Faceless Man
Rating: PG13, character death and mild swearing
She has been like this before, broken and bleeding and defenseless, but then it was only a certain degree, careful and deliberate on at least someone’s part, of broken and of bleeding, and she was defenseless but it wasn’t like this, with the fight having dragged itself somewhere else and her unable, so far as she could tell, to even lift her head.
It’s somewhat awful. (She thinks only in understatements these days, these very strange things. But really, these days are ones that deserve it.)
Now she ambles back to awareness in time to realize that what sounds there were have stopped. Despite knowing she couldn’t move the last few times she tries she still attempts to look over and see what happened (she doesn’t feel dead but she’s never been dead, so who knows who won?) and, by some miracle, manages to sit up on her elbows long enough to cough up blood and land facing a different way, on her side instead of on her back.
Wonderful. Staring off into the side of an infinite plane instead of the never-ceiling. Obviously this is an improvement, she thinks.
However, it turns out to actually be some semblance of an improvement, in that she can see the pitch-black boots when they stop next to her and the owner considers her in a way that feels sad. Most people don’t really let off their words and emotions like a pheromone mist, so then she knows who it is (or maybe being here makes her know again, maybe being here makes her halfway near whole). She tries to speak, chokes slightly and manages the second time: “Da’?”
No answer that anyone could hear, but she knows it. (This is, she thinks in the corner of her mind that never really stopped thinking everything could be done better and preferably to her specifications, an incredibly stupid way of talking.)
“Di’-- Did I do right?”
He seems to nod just slightly; what he tells her is reconstructed in her head as your choices were your own.
“Hell of a helpful answer, that.”
The god who fathered her says nothing, and gives no impressions. His daughter tries to say something that comes out more in bubbles and in swearing than in words, and shortly afterwards she dies, as demigods do sometimes.
So then he walks on.
Day / Theme: January 22: error and truth are uncertainly blended
Series: Original [ifupdown]
Character / Pairing: Daisy, the Faceless Man
Rating: PG13, character death and mild swearing
She has been like this before, broken and bleeding and defenseless, but then it was only a certain degree, careful and deliberate on at least someone’s part, of broken and of bleeding, and she was defenseless but it wasn’t like this, with the fight having dragged itself somewhere else and her unable, so far as she could tell, to even lift her head.
It’s somewhat awful. (She thinks only in understatements these days, these very strange things. But really, these days are ones that deserve it.)
Now she ambles back to awareness in time to realize that what sounds there were have stopped. Despite knowing she couldn’t move the last few times she tries she still attempts to look over and see what happened (she doesn’t feel dead but she’s never been dead, so who knows who won?) and, by some miracle, manages to sit up on her elbows long enough to cough up blood and land facing a different way, on her side instead of on her back.
Wonderful. Staring off into the side of an infinite plane instead of the never-ceiling. Obviously this is an improvement, she thinks.
However, it turns out to actually be some semblance of an improvement, in that she can see the pitch-black boots when they stop next to her and the owner considers her in a way that feels sad. Most people don’t really let off their words and emotions like a pheromone mist, so then she knows who it is (or maybe being here makes her know again, maybe being here makes her halfway near whole). She tries to speak, chokes slightly and manages the second time: “Da’?”
No answer that anyone could hear, but she knows it. (This is, she thinks in the corner of her mind that never really stopped thinking everything could be done better and preferably to her specifications, an incredibly stupid way of talking.)
“Di’-- Did I do right?”
He seems to nod just slightly; what he tells her is reconstructed in her head as your choices were your own.
“Hell of a helpful answer, that.”
The god who fathered her says nothing, and gives no impressions. His daughter tries to say something that comes out more in bubbles and in swearing than in words, and shortly afterwards she dies, as demigods do sometimes.
So then he walks on.