Chane Laforet (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fidele) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull_logs2012-08-01 05:26 pm
fidele) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-08-01 05:26 pm
Entry tags:
open
Who: Chane Laforet fidele, and open to anybody involved with her/in the Newcomer Hunt being treated in the hospital!
When: Afternoon of Tuesday 31st through to Thursday 2nd. Tag in with day/time in the subject line.
Where: Skye Medical Centre in Sector 4.
Summary: A little reconnaissance with the people she wanted to help, and helped her.
Warnings: Discussion of the Newcomer Hunt?
Even if every part of her aches down to the bone as she rests, she doesn't want for much more. The surroundings are different to when she was first dragged into this place the day before, but then, all of Chane's recollections are snippets lost in short bouts of painful movement and exhaustion. She doesn't remember the window at her bedside.
Somebody must have wanted to free up a bed and moved her, even lending pillows for her to sit propped up on. Or, more likely, a certain someone moved her to where the light could fall across the sheets. Not that she's complaining. It's good to see the city again and hear the traffic and everyday bustle on the streets below.
Nothing can erase the memories of those past few days, however. She remembers the other newcomers imprisoned on the hunting-grounds-- the ones who gave her their name, especially. They wanted to matter to her, regardless of whether she could provide them protection, and despite her self-preservation, her refusal to cooperate, her panic and nerves... their lives matter. The uncertainy of each one's survival lingers like a fluctuating undercurrent of the intruding sensation of the IV drip, the pain that's slowly leaving her system. Knowing that those others are safe-- Kaiji, Yosuke, Bolin, Conner-- would ease her. But seeing them, she awaits with trepidation and a strange, light emotion she doesn't quite recognise as simple second-hand relief. Her NV is bent and damaged, and using her telepathy only brings back echoing memories of pain; all she has to communicate with is her notepad and pen against any visitors' voices breaking through the silence that's fallen on her corner of the wing.
fidele, and open to anybody involved with her/in the Newcomer Hunt being treated in the hospital!When: Afternoon of Tuesday 31st through to Thursday 2nd. Tag in with day/time in the subject line.
Where: Skye Medical Centre in Sector 4.
Summary: A little reconnaissance with the people she wanted to help, and helped her.
Warnings: Discussion of the Newcomer Hunt?
Even if every part of her aches down to the bone as she rests, she doesn't want for much more. The surroundings are different to when she was first dragged into this place the day before, but then, all of Chane's recollections are snippets lost in short bouts of painful movement and exhaustion. She doesn't remember the window at her bedside.
Somebody must have wanted to free up a bed and moved her, even lending pillows for her to sit propped up on. Or, more likely, a certain someone moved her to where the light could fall across the sheets. Not that she's complaining. It's good to see the city again and hear the traffic and everyday bustle on the streets below.
Nothing can erase the memories of those past few days, however. She remembers the other newcomers imprisoned on the hunting-grounds-- the ones who gave her their name, especially. They wanted to matter to her, regardless of whether she could provide them protection, and despite her self-preservation, her refusal to cooperate, her panic and nerves... their lives matter. The uncertainy of each one's survival lingers like a fluctuating undercurrent of the intruding sensation of the IV drip, the pain that's slowly leaving her system. Knowing that those others are safe-- Kaiji, Yosuke, Bolin, Conner-- would ease her. But seeing them, she awaits with trepidation and a strange, light emotion she doesn't quite recognise as simple second-hand relief. Her NV is bent and damaged, and using her telepathy only brings back echoing memories of pain; all she has to communicate with is her notepad and pen against any visitors' voices breaking through the silence that's fallen on her corner of the wing.
no subject
[ Moving at a less frenetic pace he keeps clinging to her with one hand - mindful to be gentle on her bandages - and reaches his other back behind him to pull up the chair. When his knees hit the metal frame of the bed he sits.
Prevented from shooting a dozen questions at her and simply sitting in silence together almost eye-to-eye, the overwhelmingness of it all sinks in more. He takes her hand between both of his, holding the edges and the back of it and only cupping the scarred palm. Her fingers curl just over his knuckles; he lifts them to his face to rest them against his cheek while he looks over the bandage wrapped around her arm above her IV drip. While she'd slept he’d watched a nurse change the dressing and reveal the long, singed stripe of a bullet graze. It's not unlike the one on her shoulder – except that one healed over months before, and the sniper who gave it to her was dealt with long since. He'd had time that morning to take in the scrapes and patches and stitches visible on her body and to wonder where the people who inflicted them are, whether they were even still alive. But it's different seeing her awake and almost-smiling through them. There's a sting in the top of his nose that he wills away while pressing her knuckles to his cheekbone, beaming at her over the top of their joined hands. ]
no subject
Even if his words don't always filter through to her so logically or coherently, she can understand his tone, but with nothing but his slightly distant, slightly focused expression she can't gather anything from him for a moment. In that span of time he looks... regretful, hurt in that blaming manner she's come to recognise and distance from herself. But she can't read him further. Briefly, envy sparks gently in her at his ability to read just about anything from her look when the opposite is impossible-- but then, he hardly ever refrains from speaking his thoughts aloud to her. It isn't incidential, and he is honest with her.
So what did she just see before he covered up sadness and a sting with his usual smile? Perhaps, she thinks, it's the opposite of his outburst just seconds earlier-- slightly hushed, he's retreated into being too careful. Her mouth quirks reflexively, mirroring Claire's smile, almost, watching the solidity of that expression before she turns her hand a little beneath his to lower and align her thumb with his jaw, fingers curled just underneath. The more she can see of his look, the better. As soon as she is convinced of the strength of the atmosphere between them she tilts her head in question. You were here before I woke up? -It isn't open-ended at all, rather a desire for a reiteration of her suspicions. How else would it seem so right to have him sitting there, as though he'd come to own the spot overnight? ]
no subject
Almost on autopilot he replies and the bandages shift slightly against his throat. ] You got it. I was sitting here all morning. [ His head turns slightly into her hand without breaking their gaze; his look has a solemn edge to it now. ] They didn't let me overnight, but I was in the hall the whole time. As soon as I found out they brought you here I came over. [ He wouldn't have let anything happen to her; she was protected here. His look says that he needs her to understand that. ]