[she starts toward him, but sees him kick out as she approaches - and dodges to one side, quick and nimble despite the axe lodged into her shoulder.
without really thinking about it, she grips the handle with her other hand and pulls. it's stuck in there pretty well, and ordinarily she wouldn't have the strength to free it, but she's... there's something about adrenaline and bloodlust in tandem, and although inwardly she is screaming at herself to just stop, she's just as out of control now as she was in the thrall of the eudora's rage. she dislodges it with a hiss, ignoring the way she is starting to bleed out now that the axe isn't plugging the wound, and stares down at luke.
(one of the others will heal it, she catches herself thinking, although none of the people she has grown used to relying on to mend her wounds is here.)
her vision blurs with tears, but she ignores them as she darts forward to bring the axe down on him. she's aiming for his neck, but with her blurred vision and the way the blood loss makes her stagger, she will be lopping off his left hand instead of his head.]
Ordinarily, the sight of her blood would propel him into crisis mode. He would take charge and call for backup, even if he'd been the one to wound her, even if she'd deserved it. Now, it still launches him into action--but in a very different way.
Live, live, live
She's smaller than him. Not nearly as easy to overpower as she looks, but the difference is still enough, he thinks, that he shouldn't need to fear her. It's a risky move, but he trusts his abilities enough to reach out, intending to wrest the axe from her.
But the sight of her tears breaks through the haze of hurt and scorn in his heart. He falters, and the blade slices through his wrist, white-hot pain scorching across his nerves. He gasps in pain, but after all those experiments he'd undergone, adrenaline and survival manifest in a very different way. Instead of grasping at his wrist and trying to stem the flow of blood, he strikes out, his remaining hand in a claw and aiming for her face.]
sheba should have expected him to strike back immediately, perhaps; after all, hasn't she just done the same thing with the axe? she knows firsthand what the desperation to live will do to a person.
but she's still caught by surprise when he claws at her face, anyway. she yelps, jerking back - his nails have drawn blood, and she brings a hand up to her face to press over it.
also her limbs choose that exact moment to just give up on her with her reliver effect, which will give luke time to collect himself at least.]
[If he were a man with chivalry and honor, perhaps he wouldn't have pulled such a move--but such virtues died with each lash, each brand, each cruel refusal of his cries for help. Outside of this room, maybe he'll remember that none of that truly happened, that he's staggering to his feet for the sake of falsehoods. But right now, Sheba is just another representative of the injustices he's suffered. The recollections of her laughter and her bravery flicker out as his blood pours freely--
--or do they?
Sheba's limbs fail her, and Luke's struck by the scratches he's clawed into her face. His thoughts stutter as those wounds are overlaid with her tears, and then again with the sound of her screams when they'd been strapped down, side by side.
He's hurt her. Why has he hurt her?
--Why has she hurt him? Why? Why?
...
His gaze flicks to the abandoned bomb as he grows lightheaded. He needs to end this, one way or another.]
no, she doesn't want him to get his hands on that bomb. if he does, it's over for her, isn't it? he'll blow her right up. no matter how she struggles to survive, she likely won't survive that kind of an explosion.
and she wants to live.
so, hissing, she forces herself back to her feet, her limbs thankfully not giving out under her again just yet. but she's unsteady and woozy from the blood loss, so although she's able to get up and stagger toward the bomb, luke will likely beat her to it if he's motivated to move.]
Well. Their captors, technically. But to Luke, a man who'd always believed that a person's pain is uniquely their own and incomparable to anyone else's, this is an unanswerable question. Even now, with his mind warped, he isn't thinking in terms of her determination versus his--he is only trying to fight through the convoluted mess of memories, the clash of emotions in his mind.
This will end if he grabs the bomb. That is the only thing he knows is certain.
But he's a little too slow. He's bleeding just a little too much. He only has one hand to grab the bomb with, and his vision is going white, his ears ringing. He's taller than her, and closer, and it's only those advantages that put the bomb in his hand before she gets close enough to make this hard for him.
He grabs it--
Go, dummy! They'll catch up to us if someone doesn't stay to hold them off!
--and, with his dwindling consciousness, throws it as hard as he can, trying to get it away from where he last remembers Sheba was.]
well, she's surprised. because he didn't throw it directly at her. at the same time, she's not surprised. everything is such a muddle and a mess in her head.
but.
this is a relatively small cell. there's only so much space to chuck the bomb away, and it hits the wall and bounces back at exactly the right angle to place it closer to sheba than luke. she's aware of it in snapshots - there's some time. she could pick it up and throw it at him. she could throw herself over it to keep it from exploding worse. there are many things she could do, but -
her limbs give out on her again, and she finds herself falling to the ground again. she twitches, trying to force herself back up to her feet, to do anything other than lay here and wait for the explosion, but though she strains against it - she can't. her limbs won't obey her, and she's just...
she's stuck. bleeding out, here in this cell, just another part of some twisted experiment.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
without really thinking about it, she grips the handle with her other hand and pulls. it's stuck in there pretty well, and ordinarily she wouldn't have the strength to free it, but she's... there's something about adrenaline and bloodlust in tandem, and although inwardly she is screaming at herself to just stop, she's just as out of control now as she was in the thrall of the eudora's rage. she dislodges it with a hiss, ignoring the way she is starting to bleed out now that the axe isn't plugging the wound, and stares down at luke.
(one of the others will heal it, she catches herself thinking, although none of the people she has grown used to relying on to mend her wounds is here.)
her vision blurs with tears, but she ignores them as she darts forward to bring the axe down on him. she's aiming for his neck, but with her blurred vision and the way the blood loss makes her stagger, she will be lopping off his left hand instead of his head.]
no subject
Ordinarily, the sight of her blood would propel him into crisis mode. He would take charge and call for backup, even if he'd been the one to wound her, even if she'd deserved it. Now, it still launches him into action--but in a very different way.
Live, live, live
She's smaller than him. Not nearly as easy to overpower as she looks, but the difference is still enough, he thinks, that he shouldn't need to fear her. It's a risky move, but he trusts his abilities enough to reach out, intending to wrest the axe from her.
But the sight of her tears breaks through the haze of hurt and scorn in his heart. He falters, and the blade slices through his wrist, white-hot pain scorching across his nerves. He gasps in pain, but after all those experiments he'd undergone, adrenaline and survival manifest in a very different way. Instead of grasping at his wrist and trying to stem the flow of blood, he strikes out, his remaining hand in a claw and aiming for her face.]
no subject
sheba should have expected him to strike back immediately, perhaps; after all, hasn't she just done the same thing with the axe? she knows firsthand what the desperation to live will do to a person.
but she's still caught by surprise when he claws at her face, anyway. she yelps, jerking back - his nails have drawn blood, and she brings a hand up to her face to press over it.
also her limbs choose that exact moment to just give up on her with her reliver effect, which will give luke time to collect himself at least.]
no subject
--or do they?
Sheba's limbs fail her, and Luke's struck by the scratches he's clawed into her face. His thoughts stutter as those wounds are overlaid with her tears, and then again with the sound of her screams when they'd been strapped down, side by side.
He's hurt her. Why has he hurt her?
--Why has she hurt him? Why? Why?
...
His gaze flicks to the abandoned bomb as he grows lightheaded. He needs to end this, one way or another.]
no subject
oh.
oh, no.
no, she doesn't want him to get his hands on that bomb. if he does, it's over for her, isn't it? he'll blow her right up. no matter how she struggles to survive, she likely won't survive that kind of an explosion.
and she wants to live.
so, hissing, she forces herself back to her feet, her limbs thankfully not giving out under her again just yet. but she's unsteady and woozy from the blood loss, so although she's able to get up and stagger toward the bomb, luke will likely beat her to it if he's motivated to move.]
no subject
Well. Their captors, technically. But to Luke, a man who'd always believed that a person's pain is uniquely their own and incomparable to anyone else's, this is an unanswerable question. Even now, with his mind warped, he isn't thinking in terms of her determination versus his--he is only trying to fight through the convoluted mess of memories, the clash of emotions in his mind.
This will end if he grabs the bomb. That is the only thing he knows is certain.
But he's a little too slow. He's bleeding just a little too much. He only has one hand to grab the bomb with, and his vision is going white, his ears ringing. He's taller than her, and closer, and it's only those advantages that put the bomb in his hand before she gets close enough to make this hard for him.
He grabs it--
Go, dummy! They'll catch up to us if someone doesn't stay to hold them off!
--and, with his dwindling consciousness, throws it as hard as he can, trying to get it away from where he last remembers Sheba was.]
1/2
well, she's surprised. because he didn't throw it directly at her. at the same time, she's not surprised. everything is such a muddle and a mess in her head.
but.
this is a relatively small cell. there's only so much space to chuck the bomb away, and it hits the wall and bounces back at exactly the right angle to place it closer to sheba than luke. she's aware of it in snapshots - there's some time. she could pick it up and throw it at him. she could throw herself over it to keep it from exploding worse. there are many things she could do, but -
her limbs give out on her again, and she finds herself falling to the ground again. she twitches, trying to force herself back up to her feet, to do anything other than lay here and wait for the explosion, but though she strains against it - she can't. her limbs won't obey her, and she's just...
she's stuck. bleeding out, here in this cell, just another part of some twisted experiment.
how pathetic.]
2/2
sheba is dead.]