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Post by Delilah A. Black on Sept 9, 2012 18:57:18 GMT -8
OOC:
As an FYI, Marianne and I wrote this out a while back on Google Docs. This post takes place a couple months after the the destruction of the world (January). Any posts hereafter may take place anytime, as long as they state a certain chronological order and are specified as to when and where.
"Unfettered" is the first invite to this thread, under the guise of a 'report'. People can request to join after that point.
Thread is now open to any and all participants. you can make your post either a one shot, a tribute to Emily, or actually converse with Delilah herself. Or whatever, I'm pretty open about this sort of thing.
HAVE AT 'ER. “Where is she, Franz!?”
“Damn it, Did I not tell you to watch her, Marie? You KNOW that she’s got so much shit on her head that it isn’t even funny---”
“Don’t you give me that.”That was the conversation Emily had missed perhaps only a few minutes short of leaving the sight of her faithful “guardians” so to speak. Franz and Marie had always been loyal to her throughout the months, perhaps even years of suffering. The illness that Emily had was no joke, and in spite of everything -- it was only a matter of time that she would die.
It was a painful process. She deserved it. Every ounce of pain was deserved, especially with what she had done to someone she looked up to. Liked. Loved. Emily had done the worst crime of passion possible, and for the most despicable of intentions. There was absolutely no means to redeem herself for raping “Unfettered.” The friendship was now non-existent; destroyed because of her desperation for his attention.
She was like a child wanting acknowledgement. It was a petty act; she got what she deserved, none of her efforts fell through. She never really got pregnant; her Qi’s nature had rendered her completely sterile the moment she had managed to use it regularly when she was still in High School. Now it’s gone. Along with every ounce of self-respect.
She left Long beach. Taking everything, she ran to England. She left Kazuya in the dark and left without a word to him. She abandoned friends, mentors. Everything. On top of that, she had managed to marry someone she didn’t exactly know. Her husband was an interesting being, but certainly -- it was still quite like hell.
Getting Married to an A.I. wasn’t something that was so simple. There was no emotion. No physical connection. There was fondness, but nothing much was in between. Emily had grown to be no different.
She had changed so much in a year. Perhaps more than just a bit closer to death. She just wouldn’t die. Nothing she ever wanted ever happened. Perhaps it was meant to be.
Perhaps it was also fate that her weak feet brought her to what remained of PHS 259. The sick pile of rubble and soot still reeked of fire and blood. It was a sight to behold, not in a way that deserved awe in the good way -- but it certainly was fit for the woman’s last moments as more pain ran her over, coughing out blood as she fell to her knees. “Damn it. Just die already.” She muttered to herself, wiping the blood from her lips as she shook lightly, trying to get back up.
That wasn’t happening.--------------- “Damn it. Just die already.”“So you shall.”
Standing some distance behind Emily was her former comrade and one time friend, a far cry from the teenager she once was when she had last seen the white haired girl. That had been in San Francisco in years long past, back when there was high school and Militia and a Correctional Facility.
If Emily were to turn around, she would see her - Delilah - standing just on the edges of the shadows, one hand resting casually on the hilt of her katana, a gift from her sensei shortly before the bombs had fallen. Her face was almost completely void of emotion, her blue eyes flat as she fixed her gaze on Emily. Cold. Business-like. Only the slight curl of her upper lip betrayed the hint of anger she displayed. But only a hint.
This was the Delilah the end of the world had brought forth. There was no mercy in her heart.
Her left hand slid down the hilt to the sheath, her thumb resting on the underside of the tsuba, her right hand moving to rest lightly on the hilt of her blade.
“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” She said, her tone more matter-of-fact than threatening. Slowly, she began to walk toward Emily with caution: she recalled how strong the Filipina had been all those years ago. She had been a pillar then, or something to that effect. Delilah wasn’t entirely 100% on that information, but it mattered little now. The world had moved on.
She stopped a few feet behind the woman kneeling in the ashes of the high school, a haunting place for Delilah for more than one reason. She pushed that aside for now, content with looking down at Emily, watching her die before her eyes in more ways than one. It seemed to Delilah that the regrets and the remorse in the Emily’s life was eating her from the inside. She was not long for this world.
All the more reason, then.
“I have to admit, I was certain I would never get to do this. I lost your trail sometime after the birth of my son. After that, I figured you had been lost to the attack. And yet here you are...
“Why did you come back?”
Delilah thought she knew why, had a glimmer of empathy despite the reason she was here. Atonement. Retribution. Forgiveness. But it was best to hear it from the horse's mouth, or so to speak...
Quietly, she awaited an answer.------------- “So the angel of death has come for me.” Emily said, half a chuckle escaping her lips. Maybe something close to that considering how pained it was to even mention death. It was deserved. About time.
Emily didn’t bother turning around or even do any further attempts at standing. The old School Captain and the Regalian Queen was technically now no better than dead. Her body had withered beyond repair and was now due for immediate closure. Now, there seems to be a choice between a death deserved and a death that she had coming for her for the longest time.
Death had been chasing after her for years. She had barely escaped death multiple times during her childhood; defying the will of God for the sake of prolonging her agony. And at her wake, allowing many to suffer the fate that she had deserved.
Her Qi was to blame that her parents burned to their death.
It was because of her inability to be useful that she was sold to a couple she eventually killed, and robbed a brother of his parents.
It was probably also because of her that her Mentor’s love died soon after they adopted her.
It was her fault that she didn’t have the self-control to stop herself from doing the most despicable thing someone could ever do to another human being. There was no redemption for her, not even in hell. If there was any place that promised worse punishment, Emily deserved to go there and stay there to burn for the rest of eternity.“This place.” She said, Green eyes looking up weakly at the ruins through faded vision. Only memory served her sight now, or at least for the most part. She remembered fighting for this place; now it’s more likely that those still loyal to this school have branded her a criminal to be hunted and murdered on sight. There was no trial to be had for she was guilty from the very beginning. She wouldn’t bother defending herself either. “This place used to hold many happy memories.” Emily began again, “After all I’ve done, the least I could do is see those memories ruined.”She chuckled, perhaps a bit darkly.“There is no redemption for what I have done, so asking for it is pointless.” Emily then heaved a sharp gasp as pain shot through her left flank, holding her breath as she fell to her side and eventually landed on her back.
Red skies.
Everything was red. Like blood.
She’s seen a bit too much of that.“The least I could do after all I’ve done is to die.” Closing her eyes, the woman laid on the ground, barely alive and barely dead. Completely helpless; not like she had the will to fight or to preserve whatever was left.
There was nothing left.
Why bother?----------- Delilah silently listened to the woman as she spoke, watching her with the same bland expression. Emily’s words resonated through her. That did not change her purpose, of course...Emily was dying. Was already dead, really, if you wanted to be poetic about it. Slow and agonizing. Fitting. Perhaps they both agreed on that.
She stared down at the Filipina for a long moment, watching her take the shallow, final breaths that would slowly count down to the end.
“It is admirable,” she admitted finally, breaking her silence, “that you would come to that conclusion.” Not that she had much choice, of course. Whether Delilah was involved or not, Emily would die soon. Still, she admired the fact that the girl could still face death unflinchingly, given her past. “You will never be able to atone for what you have done. You failed to take what you wanted, but you took something from him that he will never get back.” She didn’t have to say whom for Emily to know whom she was referring. “Even though it amounted to nothing, you betrayed him and destroyed that part of him in your selfishness. Not even your death can heal the wounds you have inflicted. Never.
“In killing you, I will release him of you, the burden you left him. He will heal. Your ashes shall be the salve. In killing you, I will avenge the trust you have broken.”
Delilah slid the sword silently out of it’s sheath, pointed the tip downwards toward the woman’s closed eyes, her hands steady. Her voice took on a surprisingly soft, soothing tone here, even while the air was filled with the tension of the task at hand. “It will slide over you. It will be warm. Let go of what is holding you here and slip into the current. Let it take you.” Delilah paused, inhaling slowly, her resolve steeled.
The tip of the blade would plunge down towards Emily’s closed eye, aimed to pierce her brain and end it quickly. The blade would bury all the way to the occipital lobe, slicing everything in between. Blood would spurt up, crimson tears running down Emily’s face and in her hair. With a twist, Delilah would pull her blade free, removing the gore and blood with a practiced flick. She would wait, watching expressionlessly until the girl stopped moving.
Delilah would close her eyes, feeling hollow, reflecting on the life she had taken. “Goodbye,” She whispered to no one, perhaps to the soul departing from the lifeless form before her. Kneeling, she would gather Emily’s hair in her hand and cut it with the sword, cutting as close to the scalp as she could. She would lay this to the side and take one of Emily’s fans. She wrapped the hair around the fan reverently, noting the blood had had soaked part of the snow white hair. That seemed appropriate, somehow, the way the white gave way to the blood red, as though it were tainted. With a grimace, she rose.
She thought about positioning the body or moving it, but thought the better of it. Emily was better off as she was, left for the world to see that she was gone. Let her be honest, she thought as she sheathed her sword, turning away. Let her body show what this has come to. This is who she truly is. What is left of a girl I used to know.
With a heavy sigh, clutching the remnants of Emily in her hands, Delilah would walk back into the shadows, alone with her thoughts.
-------
Once home at her little apartment in the Crow’s base, she would place the fan and the blood tinged hair in a box, carefully folding the lid over it. Assured it was secure, she thought about bringing the box to “Unfettered”’s door, leaving it there without knocking or calling his name. Much the way Emily had left this world: without ceremony or fanfare, left to die in quiet despair.
Instead, she went into what passed for her kitchen and put the box up on top of the cupboards. She would wait until it was time for her report to him to tell him. This would just be the proof of what she had done. The act itself was what mattered.
It wasn’t much, but it was something. She hoped it would give her oldest friend some semblance of peace. Of closure.
She turned and went back to her living room, padding silently back the way she came with the aim to mediate on the night before, on Emily’s dying words, committing them to memory. Heaven knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, after that. In reality, it would be three days before she finally slept again.--------------- Emily didn’t move or react to all of what Delilah had pointed out. It was true; she betrayed “Unfettered”. Willingly. It was planed; an act of desperation to ultimately tear him away from her life by making him hate her, loathe her. It worked partially as planned, but there had always been regrets.
She was guilty as charged. Emily wouldn’t escape judgement. Not this time. She would rather die by Delilah’s hands rather than anyone else’s.“I was the first to join Militia, yet of all his men, I seem to be the one most forgotten -- by him..” She closed her eyes firmly, feeling the end drawing nearer with every sharp breath she took. It was quite true; she had been the first, along with Rem to join Militia. She was the co-founder -- and the most useless of all of them. He took her under his wing, then never bothered with her again.
It was as if she never existed.
He was seemingly avoiding her.
It made her desperate. Desperate for his approval, his attention, to finally be recognized as a soldier he could use. Emily truly wanted to return the confidence Jonathan had managed to give her -- only that he eventually took it away, taunting her with promise.
It drove her mad.
And it all lead to this. “I had never been useful to him; he’s ignored me forever.” It’s at this point she couldn’t help but shed a tear. “I am more useful to him dead than alive.”…
Then the blow was dealt.“Go...od... bye...”And there was peace for the first time in years. There was no pain. No suffering. No regret.
It is done. |
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Post by "Unfettered" on Feb 25, 2013 21:13:43 GMT -8
Stains On Our Hands ”Unfettered’s” Post: The moon was high. Between pages, the German would lean up from his cot to look up and to the left, out the window of his room. It was still painful to move his chest too much, but he was in the new... home. And in spite of the hasty recovery, in spite of Areon's death, in spite of everything... he had to count his blessings.
Ocean waves were his favorite thing and made falling asleep in his position a little more bearable. Kiyoshi's speech had gone off well and the Crows had begun organizing themselves. Tai and the other Militia were doing their duties...
Even a few of his longtime friends had managed to escape the disaster. However, there was word of a massacre a few months back, a little to the north-east... where the ruins of 259 was.
"Unfettered" closed his book and looked over to his desk, which was just next to his bed. The candle was still up, its wax melting down and onto the oak surface. Easy to clean off, and more concerns to worry about later.
...Right?
Delilah’s Post:There would be a knock at the door, quiet, but deceptively urgent. If "Unfettered" had been sleeping, he might not have even noticed. If he were awake, it would be easy for him to pretend he hadn't heard it at all.
”Unfettered’s” Post: ...The creaking of wood was a commonplace on this base on the pier. "Unfettered" looked up at the door and leaned up slowly... to push his book onto his desk, further aways from the candle. And there he'd wait.
After all, it was a single knock. It could have been the door settling. Although if anyone was outside, they would have heard the creaking of the springs of his mattress, before he laid back down on it.
Delilah’s Post: A creak. Signs of movement. 'Did I hear something? Maybe? No?'
Three more light raps in rapid succession, a touch more purposeful this time.
”Unfettered’s” Post:"Unfettered" closed his eye, breathing out of his nose as the knocks continued now, with persistence. No, he wasn't imagining things."Minute," he abbreviated.
He kicked out his legs from under him and pivoted himself on his rear until to lower his legs down on the wooden ground. He reached for a cane that Richard had lent him... before he disappeared. Pushing himself up, he hobbled rather defiantly to spite his condition to the door, opening it a crack, wearing a fatigued face.
Delilah would see the silhoutte of the German, his hair a scraggly, long mess from the pillow, wearing his evening wifebeater, and some black shorts on, exposing his partially hairy shins."...Hm?" the German was narrowing his eye, adjusting his vision to try and recognize who was at the door.
Delilah's Post:Noises from within. Signs of movement. She hoped she hadn't disturbed his rest. She had hardly seen hide or hair of the man since the bombs fell and hadn't spoken to him properly since earlier that fateful day.
Delilah tweaked the edges of her tanktop and smoothed her hair, almost nervously. The box under her left arm was pressed a little tighter against her body as the door opened.
Oh God...his face..
The world-weary, hollowed out visage before her bespoke of 'Unfettered's extensive injuries. He looked older. As old as she felt. While it brought her relief to see him up and moving about, it also brought her great pain to see him as he was.
She herself was dressed rather similarly to him, actually; rumpled grey tank-top and shorts, no shoes, with her hair spilled loose over her shoulders. As if she had gotten up out of bed and walked straight to his room. She adjusted the grip on her box so it balanced on her hip and gave him a small, worn out smile.
"Hey. Got a sec?"
Yes, casual. A good way to start.
”Unfettered’s” Post:The bags under his eye told of sleepless nights. Pain, duty, worry were all symptoms and the bags under his eye were heavy. His chest, where he had been shot at, was tightly bound with bandages, as could be seen from underneath his wife beater, just under his armpits.
..."Unfettered" saw a rather beautiful young woman, in her own casual state. It had genuinely taken him a moment to realize that he was staring at Delilah. He managed to give her a grin."Ich have plenty. Come in," he would swee his other hand as he took a step back to let Delilah in to either sit at his desk or at his bed. Then, with his cane, he would walk after her and let himself sit at the available station."...Vat brings du around tonight?"There was no facade, but a tone of genuine curiosity, though he closed his eye as he asked. If he had noticed the box... he was leaving that to her discretion. But he could easily just as well have not noticed it as he was so focused on recognizing her at the door in his tired state.
Delilah’s Post: "Ich have plenty. Come in,"Her own smile managed to widen a bit at his grin and she slipped past him into the room, having a breif look around. It had the distinct look and flavour of it's occupant; books and papers strewn about the room, but otherwise barren of personal knick-knacks and the like. The fact that even with his wounds that he was as absorbed in his work as he was added to the charm of the place. It was how she imagined Sherlock Holmes' apartment might have been.
Delilah took a seat at his desk, curling one of her legs under her as she shifted the chair closer to his bed, placing the box (which was heavier than it looked) on the nightstand. Again, another spike of guilt/reget at the sight of him walking with a cane. If only I'd been there.
No, dammit. This isn't about you, it's about him."...Vat brings du around tonight?""I thought I'd come and check up on you...I haven't really seen you much since...well," a flick of her hand would seem to indicate their new circumstances.
"...how are you?" her voice was laced with genuine concern and not a small amount of guilt. Though for a lot of reasons as opposed to the one.
”Unfettered’s” Post:The papers had been left mostly untouched. The books were kept where they mostly were, excluding the one book that "Unfettered" had kept. Everything was being kept under lock and key unless at the German's express consent. As it was difficult breathing, without fear of his lung or broken bones just accidentally slipping out, being primarily bedridden was unfortunately how he was forced to spend most of these days still. Graph-wise... and anything intensive would be credited to Militia who would place things in his otherwise completely spartan room in such a way that could be conceived as... "Sherlock Holmes," as it were.
The cane, useful as it was to help him keep his back straight, was put down to lean against the wall while "Unfettered" slowly rested himself down onto the bed itself.
He laughed at her first response---but reduced that into a nod, as laughter was actually detrimental to his health. At her second question, he raised a brow. He wanted to lean himself back down on the bed, but he chose to keep himself on the edge of it, his arms propping him up."Recuperating," he replied bluntly. There was no happiness in the statement."Und du?" casting his gaze on her. His eye... swivelled to the box, before staring back up at her again.
Delilah’s Post: "Recuperating,"Blunt, to the point. Was he trying to spare her the details? Maybe trying to prevent any more of the guilt she felt from spilling into her voice? Maybe, maybe. But it was probably the best way to describe what he was going through at the moment. Delilah herself knew all to well what that was like...then again, she'd never been shot to the point of near-death before."Und du?"Her eyes met his...and watched as they quickly flicked to the box she brought with her before rejoining her gaze. She grimaced at the question.
"...well enough. Oliver's having a time of it, though. Nightmares," she would spare him the details of what they both had gone through to get to the marina. It didn't help that she herself was consistenly being visited by the same memories in the dead of night herself. "I'm still getting used to all of this. I'm going through basic training to help that along...but sleep hasn't exactly been easy, you know?"
Case and point, her being here at that very moment. Her eyes turned to the box. "...but I've been keeping busy."
Now was as good a time as any. She stood, lifting the box from the table and stepping a little closer to "Unfettered". She made to place the box in his lap, thought the better of it, and laid it on the bed beside him instead. Then she would sit back down, looking grim and tired.
"I figured you would want to see that." she said softly, completely unsure of how he would react.
”Unfettered’s” Post:"Unfettered's" eye followed after hers down to the box that she'd brought along. His eye quickly flicked backed to hers... and it was obvious that this was going to be a centerpiece for tonight's unexpected visit. Camo green lid, beige bottom... there was no lurch of anything overly heavy that weighed in it or at least from the skillful way that Delilah held it.
His question was succiently rewarded with a grimace. He found himself nodding to her acceptance to their situation, the healthy ways of coping... Nodding."Ja, Ich know."...And only then did her words become slightly... mysterious. He raised a brow at how she was keeping "busy" and he honestly couldn't comprehend what might have been in the box. Or at the very least, looking back... his initial guesses would be so far gone, so off, that he'd have to laugh to himself.
What could have been in the box.
Not a question. There was something in it.
She did pick up the box from the table, and his arms went out to receive it. However, Delilah decidedly put it down next to him instead."...Vat."Instead of opening it right away, he continued to stare at it. Then, he took the box and placed it on his lap. It was surprisingly... heavy. Well, he expected the weight, but the weight was very disproportionate, running through the middle.
However, his gaze did not break from hers."Vat."He wasn't exactly sure what to make of her expression. Delilah may not have known, but this mystery was on the verge of being absolutely terrifying for the German.
Delilah’s Post:The line of her mouth thinned even more at the sound of his voice. More guilt. More pain. Did he have to know what she had done? Or was that just her own selfish way of unburdening herself?
Probably the latter. But as selfish as it might be, he deserved to know.
She forced herself to smile, a pained and tired one at that.I'll explain when you open it."
”Unfettered’s” Post:"Unfettered's" quizzical stare finally relented. And he opened the box. He stared.
...Slowly, he reached into it. He looked at lock of white hair. It was bloody.
He smiled."Oh. Hunting some Experiments," he said, looking into her eyes."Zey cannot be saved anymore, Delilah. Du are putting zem out of zer misery."
Delilah’s Post:Delilah blinked.
And blinked again.
"I...what."
She blinked a few more times and then realized he had no idea what she was talking about.
Slowly, Delilah lifted a palm to cover her face. Oh, the humanity.
"Underneath the hair..." she told him in a strained voice (that was almost amused)
”Unfettered’s” Post:"Oh, zis?"The German picked up the (still surprisingly) heavy fan. Though, at her gesturing (and her presumed face palm), he looked at it a little more intently."Ich just assumed zis vas further proof of ze kill. Probably vat du either killed it vith or vat it vas vielding."He eyed her. A slight half-smile on his face."Ich hope du veren't alone. Ich vould hate to see du hurt by those poor souls."
Delilah’s Post:OBVIOUSLY, she wasn't being blunt enough. The hand fell into her lap and she looked across from him with a steady gaze.
"This is all that remains of Emily De Santos. I killed her."[/size
”Unfettered’s” Post:
...He stared. The half-smile on his face faded. Then he blinked and he looked down.
...It was as though he was deep in thought. His eye expanded for a moment as he looked down, placing the things back in. He began nodding.
"Ah. Oh right. Zat makes sense."
He grimaced slightly at the realization, the... memory?
"Ve can throw it avay."
Delilah’s Post:
More surprised blinking at the shift in his demeanour. Then she thought she understood. Maybe it was the same as how she regarded her time in prison?
Maybe, maybe.
Still puzzled by his new attitude, she held out her hands for the box. "I would be happy to get rid of it for you."
And good riddance.
”Unfettered’s” Post:
The German promptly closed the box and held it out to Delilah. His gaze met with hers... but nothing was shown in his eye. Lost in thought, his blue eye a fog...
He let go of the box to Delilah.
Delilah’s Post:
Delilah pulled the box into her lap, a little relieved but also still nervous. His expression was unreadable and still so different.
"How do you feel?" she asked softly. A many faceted question and one she didn't really expect a straight answer on.
”Unfettered’s” Post:
"Unfettered" pushed himself back onto his bed, until his back touched the wall, the window just a few inches next to him. He moved himself very gingerly as he did, making careful note to keep his back as erect as possible to prevent his ribs from rubbing into each other. And for a moment, it appeared as though he did not hear Delilah. He allowed several moments of silence to pass between them, his eye swiveling to the side, hidden under his hair.
...
"Perhaps... a little disappointed..." was his deadpan response.
'...In you.'
...?
Delilah’s Post:
She would wait, somewhat patiently. She knew better than to assume he hadn't heard her; little escaped his notice. Delilah's eyebrows drew together as she tried to dechiper his meaning behind that. And at this point, as exposed as she was, she took it the way that validated her guilt.
Her eyes widened, suddenly shiny, and she looked down, unable to meet his eye (even though she couldn't see it.).
More silence would pass between them, and she gripped both her hands in her lap, squeezing them.
"...so am I."
”Unfettered’s” Post:
"Then it ist agreed," the German replied gravely, his voice lowering an octave.
"...Zat vas 'Unfettered's' kill."
'Kekekekekeke.~'
If Delilah stared up at him, the man's eye would be hidden under the hair. But there was a... comforting... grin to console her.
Delilah’s Post:
Delilah's head snapped back up to look at him, puzzled and a little...indignant.
"No. I take full responsibility for that. Besides, it was not a 'good' kill. She was already dying. Sick or something." she waved a hand to indicate it didn't matter...and then stopped, realizing that she didn't fully undertsand his reasoning behind what he said and had assumed too quickly.
"I mean...why, exactly?"
”Unfettered’s” Post:
The mention of Emily's death not being a "good" kill did not faze the German. In fact, he nodded in agreement with the wave of Delilah's hand to dismiss it... because perhaps the German himself did not perceive the matter of how Emily died such a large matter.
...His left eye swiveled up, pondering, to seriously translate what they were talking about...
"Vy? Vy Ich am disappointed?
Ich am not."
The smile that "Unfettered" gave Delilah in that moment... was hers alone. It was as though he were completely detached to the matter of Emily's death.
Delilah’s Post:
"But you just said..." and then she sighed, dropping the subject. She supposed it didn't matter. And it didn't seem to bother 'Unfettered' in the least, which was more unnerving. As though he didn't care either way if she lived or died.
But it mattered to her. She was the one with the blood on her hands.
"..I guess I just felt like I had too," she said, explaining. Mostly to herself. But she didn't want to bring up...what she did either. No need to incite painful memories. "After all this time, it felt wrong to let her go undealt with." she waved a hand at the box.
”Unfettered’s” Post:
...The German looked down, face covering his hair as he... leaned forward.
With a strain to keep his stomach, and thus his lower spine straight, the German raised a hand to the woman's cheek. What ended up staring straight up at her was the unmistakable eye of....
"...Ich assure du. 'Unfettered' appreciates this."
His words had a sense of... finality. Not aggressive. His hand, however, stayed at her cheek. He did not know if she were to cry at this... But his grip was beckoning, as though to draw her in. Affirmation. But also comfort.
Delilah’s Post:
The way he used his 'nickname' and the gentle way he cupped her cheek as he leaned forward (he shouldn't be doing that, not with his injuries) made her realize how hollow she felt inside, as of she were lacking --or, moreso in Delilah's thought process, undeserving-- of such firm understanding. And yes, as he spoke and she stared into his eye, a tear slipped down her opposite cheek.
A chink in her armour. It figured that the one who knew her best would be the one to reach right through it and into her soul. But she was still unprepared and the armour cracked at last.
A startled sob escaped her lips and she let herself move forwardfollowing his hand to the bed where he sat, sitting there with hiim as she fought to gain a hold of her emotions. "-sniff-I'm sorry..." she managed. She meant the crying (HOW PATHETIC, HONESTLY), but it had affected her much deeper than that. She had killed a one time friend and one of the former 'founders' of Militia. And while she wasn't sorry for Emily's death, for it was justified in her eyes and always would be, she was sorry that it had to be her that killed her.
”Unfettered’s” Post:
A tear. Affirmation. The German's hand was quick to pull her in. The German shook slightly at the suddenness of her lips (...) as the sobbing began in force. There would only be light tutting at at her apologies and as he leaned back to accomodate for her, he used his other hand to pull her at the small of her back to either sit on his lap... or right next to him.
Delilah would be pulled close.
The left hand about her cheek would go to the back of her head, to encourage her into his left shoulder, as his right arm steadied her...
...And as he buried his forehead into the space between her shoulder and her neck. And firmly, he would hold her... for however long it took.
The German was otherwise silent. Perhaps dwelling on all the guilt that Delilah was placing on herself... Perhaps on how the guilt should have been with his own hands. Perhaps with a sense of genuine relief.
Perhaps.
"Unfettered's" blue eye would be buried under layers of his own hair, hugging his dear friend, his expression disappearing into her sobs.
Peace. Anger. Frustration. It was impossible to tell.
It was okay.
Delilah’s Post:
She let herself be pulled into his lap (apologising for that too, his injuries certainly not forgotten), her head guided to his shoulder. She buried her face there, body wracked with sobs. Crying on his shirt. Apologising for that too. What else could she do? She was a mess.
They would remain like that for a while, entangled until she finally calmed down. It was painful, but she knew it was necessary. She was grateful for him being there and knowing what she needed...and understanding her.
It was weird, but in her moments of doubt, she had almost forgotten what it was like to have a friend. Or a man hold her, but that was another story.
After a time, Delilah sniffed, lifting her hands and grasping him lightly under his arms and on his upper back, lolling her head to rest gently on his neck. "...I'm glad you're okay."
Random, but this was also the first time she had seen him since coming to the base. It was a relief to see him up and relatively about, let alone alive. "I don't know what I'd d without you."
”Unfettered’s” Post:
More apologies begot more tutting shooshes in total silence... which was most, warm air on her neck as a side-effect. Those were the least of his thoughts. Instead, the German's gaze was more upon Other things. He was... careful not to let his eye gaze away and perhaps perceivably cautious to not let his face be seen. If Delilah motioned for him to let go, the German would gradually release her and push himself back, further onto his bed.
...If not, he would... whisper into her ear.
"...Just... move vith me."
...And then push the both of them towards the back of his bed, so the both of them could sit comfortably where they were. The German's body wasn't too warm, and the way he perceivably clung to Delilah was almost grateful. However, his thoughts remained amiss.
As she reached out under his arms to grip his back, resting herself on his neck... his head would loll about, over hers.
Briefly.
And then it would loll back to its place on her neck. He would be staring into the side of her head. And she would be able to feel the sides of his cheeks wring as he unmistakably smiled at her, eye narrowing.
"Be fantastic, probably," he would suggest jokingly.
...Perhaps meaning it. Perhaps.
He muttered.
"...good." [/s]
Delilah’s Post:Delilah moved with him as gingerly as possible, trying not to aggravate his wounds.She didn't mind the closeness, though normally it might have made her feel uncomfortable. But this was "Unfettered"--her oldest, dearest friend. This was okay. And in all honesty, she knew she needed this. She could trust "Unfettered". Even though they were both in thier bed clothes, hugging eachother close on his bed.
Nope, not weird at all. Though she wouldn't let herself consider it, either.
She let out a short, wet laugh at his 'joke', her body still trembling slightly in the aftermath of her emotional outpouring in spite of regaining herself. "I mean it, though. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be alive right now. And I wouldn't have so much to fight for," on a whim, of a slight pull that made her body move without being fully aware of it, Delilah turned her head slightly to the side, facing 'Unfettered's neck. Shifting herself up slightly, she planted a light, breif, gentle kiss on his cheek.
Perhaps that was too much. Perhaps they were too close for that sort of thing. She knew that was, perhaps, dangerous. But she was open now, stripped of her armour in a manner of speaking. She was feeling things ten-fold thier usual amount, and right now, she was feeling grateful to her friend for being there for her.
"So, thank you."
”Unfettered’s” Post:Any... awkwardness would be ignored. From the loosening of his grip at her laughter would be the sensation of relief sliding back up her back. He was just... staring at her exposed neck... when her adam's apple came ot face him.
"Unfettered" did not move as he felt the slight wetness pressed against his cheek."...Du dork," he mumbled... hugging her so that her head could lean over his and... maybe so that her lips were away from his cheeks. However, that exposed the length of his neck...
The German sighed into her as he basically leaned her on him. His back was in a good position now and he brought his own arms down over hers to just hug at the small of her back. Warm.
He missed...
...
"Unfettered" stared off. But he'd keep hugging her. Even into the morning, if that's what it was. Perhaps it was scary to think... where he himself would be if she wasn't here either. Or...
..."...Too gut." he muttered."Too gut."
Delilah’s Post:"...Du dork,"Delilah laughed again, softly this time and for a little longer, turning her head again so that their heads were lightly resting against the other,even as she leaned against him fully. Still unwilling to move. Letting her mind drift. Sorting through her emotions, becoming okay with everything. Letting go.
He spoke and she lifted her head slightly in response. "What is?" she murmured back, almost sleepily.
”Unfettered’s” Post:The German would not answer her. Instead, he just held her tighter, staring off elsewhere... Eventually, though, as time went on, his arms began to motion her away from him… and down onto his bed… and leaned over her. If she looked at him with concern, he would stare back with a serious expression written on his face, half-grimacing.”Rest here. Ich feel like staying up tonight.”Before any misinterpretations would spring up, he would climb over her, sliding his legs out from underneath her, keeping his back straight… clambering for his desk. If she tried to get up at all, he would just push her down at the shoulders, staring sternly. At the very least, he did not want to see her without someone rational to see over her tonight, considering… what had happened. Keeping her on the level was his priority…
He would tuck her in with a half-smile, before going to his desk, putting the box next to him on the desk, as though it were a paperweight. And from there, opening up a small binder… he would begin to scribble something, well into the morning…
Delilah’s Post:He didn't answer, which was irksome, but in her state where the tension was rapidly leaving her body, she decided it didn't mind. She would ask him another time...if she remembered at all.
When 'Unfettered' shifted again, startling her into wakefulness, it took her a moment to realize that he wanted her to move. And move she did, in the direction he indicated...which happened to be down. Onto his bed.
Instead of concern, Delilah would be staring up at 'Unfettered' in complete bewilderment with a pink face as SEVERAL memories came to mind all at once. The expression adorning his features didn't really help matters.
"Uuuhhhh...""Rest here. Ich feel like staying up tonight."Okay, THAT made more sense. Now her brow did dive downward in concern for the man, struggling to sit upright...only to be pushed back down by her shoulders. She couldn't help but scowl up at him in amusement, one of those same memories from before coming to mind. "...Ze... You realize ze moment you let go... I'm goi... going to--going to try... make a break for it, ja?"
Echoing his own words from years long past back up at him with eerie accuracy and with a decent portrayal of his accent. But she didn't resist this time, as he released her shoulders and moved to his desk. She had been injured that night, less so than he, but still hurting, and she had forced him to stay in her bed until morning.
And even though he needed the bed FAR more than she did and should not be staying up at all with those injuries, it was the thought that mattered here. He was her boss. Her brother. This time, she would honor his decision by listening to his instruction, rather than asserting he take care of himself first.
He'd already survived the beginning of the apocalypse, after all, with serious injury. The German, she knew could take care of himself. She would have to trust him.
Thinking on this as he tucked her in and began writing at his desk, Delilah drifted off into a peaceful sleep for the first time in days. Occasionally during this time as she dreamed, tears would leak from the corners of her eyes, but she would not stir or mumble. Just letting the sleep heal the wounds that she inflicted upon herself.
Wounds cut in honour of the German and for herself.
”Unfettered’s” Post:* * * * * * * * * * * * * Several hours later, the German looked over his report… or rather, his journal. He looked over to the right to where Delilah was resting herself quite comfortably. And that’s when he slowly stood up and snuck out.
...
…The German found himself standing out on the docks, box in hand. He glared down at it…
…Did a half smirk come over his face, in that twilight?
Casually, the box was thrown into the ocean.
To disappear. |
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