lucetilogs | Zompania Draft: Coming Home

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Zompania Draft: Coming Home

Who: Anyone drafted to Zompania, or recruited as reinforcements, or left behind in the village. SO. Everybody!
What: The draftees and reinforcements return to the village.
When: May 26, early early in the morning
Where: Back in Luceti
Summary: Most draftees and reinforcements return to Luceti in the very early hours; now, instead of a medevac site for the draft, the village is a welcome (?) refuge from the nightmare of Zompania for its own. There's a high likelihood it still looks a lot like it has in the past few days; those in the fight didn't even get a chance to shower before returning.

(This is the place for all your post-draft trauma and reunions and every other thing. Have fun! And don't forget to entry-tag your character.)

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[Evan hadn't really been sleeping well the past days. Today saw him up at ungodly hours again. Laika had taken to watching him and whining, but today she was still asleep as he moved around the apartment.

His nerves are fairly wrecked but outwardly he looks calm and composed.

Plonking down onto the couch he stares blankly at nothing, mind strangely quiet as well. Until he hears footsteps. Then all senses are online as he waits, unconsciously holding his breath.

The steps are sure, slow, and dragging just a bit. They stop at the door.

Evan moves, and is across the apartment in record time, wrenching the door open (he had unlocked it when he woke up) so quickly it groaned in protest.]

Ginia?

[Flame Building is quiet, partially the time, mostly because a good portion of the residents were sent on the draft. Ginia takes the elevator and leans against the wall as the elevator - god, that green is hideous - rumbles upward. Too quiet, too normal. No Third Party lurking around the corner, no floors smeared with blood, the smell of rotting food or burning bodies in the air.

Ginia barely has a chance to test the door before it flies from her hand. She stares blankly at the open door then looks up at Evan. Laika is on her soon, whining and barking, tail swishing as she paws at her chest and licks her face.

Dogs are easier than people. Ginia holds Laika and falls to her knees, burying her face into her dog's head. Just give her a moment, she hasn't had many the last few days.]

[Evan almost wants to wince at the blank look he gets from Ginia, but he knows combat fatigue when he sees it and doesn't take it personally at all.

Also his heart is beating double time and another face is being superimposed on her own with the blood thundering through his head blocking his ears feeling like all the vessels are going to explode his breathe stuttering strangely under the rush of blood and okay, now is not the time for him to start having panic attacks. Like at all.

Evan closes his eyes and breathes out sharply, holding his breath until it starts to hurt before breathing in long and slow.

Letting Ginia have her moment with Laika Evan hums the opening to "The Phantom of the Opera" alerting her to his presence before he bends and gently takes her bag, moving away from the door to set it on the nearby table.]

[Ginia allows her bag to be removed, feeling the ever-present weight slip off her back and shoulders. She's home. She can put her bag down and take off her armor and rest and relax (unlikely).

It takes a few more minutes, but Ginia finds her feet and stands. She follows Evan's humming into the apartment, nudging the door close behind her. Her eyes fall around the apartment - her apartment, their apartment - and tries not to think about similar apartments with blood-splattered walls and broken furniture.

(The same could happen to them. Ginia knew that before, but now it was even more cemented in her mind. The Third Party could do the same to them and they could not allow that to happen.)

But everything is intact, clean, lived in and comfortable. It's her place, far from the Third Party, far from the battlefield, a little apartment among other apartments in a village in the forest.

Ginia inhales and exhales slowly. She swallows the lump forming in her throat. Her hands reach behind her neck, fumbling with the small chain before finally pulling it off with a hard tug. Her eyes, blank, haunted, look over at Evan and she walks forward, offering two metal tags back to him.]

[Evan hums and putters around, opening her bag to remove her weapons. They need cleaning, and it's not like he isn't wide awake.

As Ginia works up the energy to get inside Evan opens her bag. Change of clothes (filthy), set aside on the chair. Bottles of water and some canned food, well those can go on the table. Mmmm, peaches. Now back to the bag, peaches can wait. Evan peers in before removing light bundle, setting it down and poking it curiously. He lifts one of the corners, allowing him to see what was inside. Looks like a motley collection of feathers, but a lot larger than the ones from Lucetian's wings. Curious.

Movement from Ginia's direction has him look up. That expression is familiar, one he's seen on her before and in the mirror recently. He moves from where he had been standing and walks forward, reaching up and tangling his fingers with his tags and her fingers. Gently he tugs her forward, brushing a kiss to her knuckles before leaning in to rest his forehead against hers.]

Welcome home.

Edited (whoopsie) 2014-06-03 23:59 (UTC)

[Ginia exhales sharply as their foreheads touch. She shakes a little, tears welling up as she tries to fight them back. It was bad out there. Dying, the bomb, the piles of bodies, torturing cultists for information, it was bad. And now coming back down from a hellish week, that's a hard shift. She'll get through somehow, she knows she always does one way or another, but where to start?

Her breath shudders as she inhales, pulling away slightly to blink tears away and rub at her face with the back of her glove.]

/Sorry, I need to take a shower. I smell horrible./

[A shower, a chance to clean off her skin, to try to wash away everything and leave it all behind. If only memories could go down the train with dirt and grime. Ginia doesn't even wait for his response, walking past him on a straight path toward the bathroom. He'll understand, she thinks. He has to.

And if he doesn't, then there's nothing to say, is there.]

[Evan simply stays quiet even as Ginia shakes and and her breath shudders. He watches as she pulls back slightly to wipe her eyes, expression soft.

At her comment, a wry smile pulls his lips.]

I've smelt worse... [He trails off, as memories try to take over, pushing dead bodies bloated by water, crushed by fallen buildings, small bodied, large bodies, cries that grew weaker and vanished after days of searching sewer mains broken spilling into streets mixing with water and mud the scent of death and decay and pain sticking to the skin-

Evan lets Ginia go.

It takes him a moment before he is able to even move with out shuddering. He folds into the chair at the table, unable to continue standing and just breathes for a minute.

He should have known that dealing with the earthquake and tsunami damage would have left a lasting impression... especially with... No. Evan shakes his head, pushing everything away, and turns his focus back to Ginia's bag.

As she showers, he takes out the final item, an odd first aid kit that seems to flash? Weird. He is tempted to open it, but from what he recalls, this isn't Ginia's first aid kit. Still, he pokes it, curious, before turning back to the unusual feathers she had gathered. He starts to lay them out one by on, sorting by size.]

[It's definitely not her's; pink box, light up cross. Dusty, a bit dinged up, but it was at the bottom of her pack for a reason. A reminder. A failure. Something to return when the owner returns.

There are seven feathers in all, four large primaries, three secondary feathers. A bit rumpled, broken or bent, some dirty or with dried blood on them, but much larger than any feather from any of their wings. In a way they're beautiful.

In the bathroom, Ginia peels out of her dirty clothes. Her boots and vest will need to be hosed down later. Socks can be tossed, pants too. The jacket and shirt underneath are salvageable. She leaves the pile of clothes on the ground and steps into the shower.

The splash of cold water is the shock Ginia needs. She gasps and tenses, freezing water running through her hair, off her back, down her torso, brown and red muddying the water as it slides down the drain. The luxury of water, of a shower, of taking as much time as she wants to clean. Ginia tilts her head back, lets the now-lukewarm water hit her face. She gargles, spits, wipes her face and shakes out her hair. It's a luxury, a wonderful, wonderful luxury. Tears spill down her face as she begins to scrub herself with soap, rubbing urgently and hard.

Not everyone gets that luxury. Some won't be back for another week. Some will never come back. She's alive and she should be thankful for the second (third?) chance. Kill all that's a threat. Oh, she did that. She killed and torture and did everything to survive. And now she's here and enjoying a shower and breathing and living.

Living. Living.

What the fuck does that even mean anymore?

Ginia scrubs her skin red, accidentally scratching herself a few times. Scrubs and rinses and cleans until the water runs clear and cold and she's shivering again. She shuts off the water but stays where she is, watching water spiral down the drain.

One foot out of the shower, then the other. Ginia stands and drips onto the mat, looking down at herself. The bruises, the fresh scratches, healed cuts and fresh scars, chafed and raw spots. No major injuries - her leg throbs, remembering the feeling of flesh and muscle being torn and mangled. Came out better than most. Oddly, she feels guilty over it. Maybe she was too safe, maybe just safe enough. Maybe not reckless enough. Maybe she could have done more. Silly thing, isn't it.

Ginia dries herself off, leaves her clothes where they are and wraps herself up in her bathrobe, and heads back out to talk to Evan.]

[Evan fingers the seven feather gently, noticing the damaged states and the similarity between all of them. So, definitely not Lucetian...

Putting all those thoughts aside, Evan gathers up the dirty clothes, heading to his room to put them in the laundry hamper he had picked up during the time Ginia was away. Rolling the hamper out he moves it so it's next to the bathroom door, for later. Clothes taken care of Evan absently rubs his fingers together, the feeling of grime clinging to them. Memories flicker and he watches them go past, before walking through them to wash his hand.

He wants to keep the water cool, so as to not disturb Ginia's shower, but the sensation of cold water of his hand make him jerk and shiver. Instead he turns it as hot as it can get, washing and scrubbing as his skin turns bright red.

As the temperature drops Evan jerks his hand out of the water bashing his elbow on the edge of the sink. Swearing at the bright blast of pain, Evan leans over, nudged the faucet shut with his nose and mouth even as he cradles his abused arm to his chest.

Damn that hurt. But the bright white pain clears his mind. He straightens, and checks out his hand. Bright red and fading slowly.

He hears Ginia moving around in the bathroom having missed the shower being turned off. Carefully he dries his hand and heads back to the table.]

[It certainly feels better being clean and looking more presentable, but Ginia still looks tired and worn as ever. She sits down at the table and idly looks at the backpack, the first aid kit, the feathers, the cans of food. She should eat, but her appetite is gone. Maybe later, maybe, when it's not so early.

'You should sleep.' she wants to tell Evan, but that's cruel. He was obviously up and now that she's back, the responsible thing is to tell him what happened.

But where to begin?

Ginia busies her hand with petting Laika as she tries to find a starting place. The beginning? A futile fight, the bomb, everyone dying, drowning, burning, coming back to life? Much too soon, too much to talk about.

Arriving at the city, seeing the rows of bodies lining the streets, the bloody altar? Some point, maybe. She picks up a feather and spins it around, remembering the bloodless mess in the halls, the neatly dismembered limbs, Law's eyes, cold as ice.

Ginia sets the feather down. Folds her hands. Unfolds them after a few minutes.]

/Don't let them take you alive./

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Zompania Draft: Coming Home

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