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queenofheartsrp2011-07-08 07:48 pm
noneedforheroic.livejournal.com) wrote in queenofheartsrp2011-07-08 07:48 pm
№2 ➤ video/action ⁖
[She knew better, really she did, but the dull edge of restlessness was just starting to get to her. Had been creeping, very slowly, she wasn't like Red, she could handle downtime and endless hours of bullshit recon with nothing but a cigarette for company. But it had found a catalyst in those fucking phantoms, a subtle itch that she just can't quite purge. It's important to her, her team, and they're not here.
And as of now, there's not a damn thing she can do about it. So restless it is and she heads out, patrols the places she knows and idly considers the exploration of somewhere new. She can magic up a flashlight with a little dirt and head down into the caves, why not? She's heard there are critters down there, but she knows about nasty monsters, the exercise will take her mind off it. It's nothing she can't handle.
She doesn't notice the acrid reek of the Dracaenae's claws until it's too late though. The thing's dead and she's idly poking over its corpse for anything useful when she notices their black tips and lifts a hand to the ripped fabric at her side.]
...Fuck. [It hasn't started to burn yet, so maybe she'll be all right, but it was reckless enough--(Red's fault, it was always Red's fault somewhere, infectious little bitch)--coming down here alone to begin with without heading in deeper. She turns around, heads back. They know she's been hit though, those goddamn creepers, and every time she has to stop and beat one down--(heart rate up, blood pulsing)--the sense of it increases: shivering, nausea, dizziness.
When she comes out into the sunlight, she's covered in brackish blood, sweating. She barks for the vine, and it comes curling out of the brush. She would prefer to be more composed than this, but she drops down into the grass and heaves violently, unable to speak at all for a long time because of the way her diaphragm has seized up. She eventually puts her hand over it, the faint green glow of her materia showing just long enough to get out:]
Red. Get the fuck out here, now.
[The 'bring my goddamn medkit' will just have to go unspoken because she's sputtering again, this time actually throws something up. With surprising grace, all things considered.]
[[ooc; this is actually open to everyone ever! it will embarrass her so much if people other than reno come to help :D ]]
And as of now, there's not a damn thing she can do about it. So restless it is and she heads out, patrols the places she knows and idly considers the exploration of somewhere new. She can magic up a flashlight with a little dirt and head down into the caves, why not? She's heard there are critters down there, but she knows about nasty monsters, the exercise will take her mind off it. It's nothing she can't handle.
She doesn't notice the acrid reek of the Dracaenae's claws until it's too late though. The thing's dead and she's idly poking over its corpse for anything useful when she notices their black tips and lifts a hand to the ripped fabric at her side.]
...Fuck. [It hasn't started to burn yet, so maybe she'll be all right, but it was reckless enough--(Red's fault, it was always Red's fault somewhere, infectious little bitch)--coming down here alone to begin with without heading in deeper. She turns around, heads back. They know she's been hit though, those goddamn creepers, and every time she has to stop and beat one down--(heart rate up, blood pulsing)--the sense of it increases: shivering, nausea, dizziness.
When she comes out into the sunlight, she's covered in brackish blood, sweating. She barks for the vine, and it comes curling out of the brush. She would prefer to be more composed than this, but she drops down into the grass and heaves violently, unable to speak at all for a long time because of the way her diaphragm has seized up. She eventually puts her hand over it, the faint green glow of her materia showing just long enough to get out:]
Red. Get the fuck out here, now.
[The 'bring my goddamn medkit' will just have to go unspoken because she's sputtering again, this time actually throws something up. With surprising grace, all things considered.]
[[ooc; this is actually open to everyone ever! it will embarrass her so much if people other than reno come to help :D ]]
[action]
Didn't think poets usually kept monsters. Doesn't really seem like their deal.
[action]
Poets may have other talents, other skills. They need not limit themselves to pen and paper. There are many ways to be a poet, many forms poetry may take. Life itself can be a kind of poetry.
A poet should have a monstrous side, or at the very least an understanding of monsters. How else can she delve into the darker parts of the soul? It is the poet's primary task to be absolutely courageous and to shy from nothing.
[action]
Sure.
Poetry's not really my deal.
You're the expert.
[action]
I speak metaphorically, of course. [She gives a vague smile.] A great poet's true task is to examine and illuminate every part of the heart and the soul, for it is within and not without that the worst monsters and the most killing poison can be found.
[She knows this very well. She fears no monster more than herself.]
As for literal monsters, I have the gift of dominion over beasts, but it is ordinarily best to allow them to be free.
[action]
I'm deployed in the real world, babe. I can handle the shit inside of me.
Those are the beasts I've got to work on.
[action]
To me, such beasts as reside in that cave are a small matter, easily mastered or destroyed.
It is a matter of perspective: what is real, and what is of importance.