Sheena Fujibayashi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
worldofhurt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
caughtinanetwork2013-02-06 08:56 pm
worldofhurt) wrote in caughtinanetwork2013-02-06 08:56 pm
Entry tags:
[video] ||Rising Sun||
[Flashes of violet and white tear, feral, across vision, blinding in their intensity, coupled with near-immediate thunder roaring, and somewhere amidst it, a child whimpers. Voices behind her urge her onward, encouraging, but the perspective whirls around to fill with bodies--adults--gathered a little ways away from the dais dressed for stealth with weapons across their forms. At the front of them, an old man smiles.]
You can do this, Sheena.
[Everything wavers, and maybe it's the addressed shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It jerks, then, as she whips herself upright, sets her shoulders. It's natural to be uneasy in a place like this, but she can overcome it. These people believe in her, and she believes in herself. She's trained for this. Even if it's frightening, she can do it!
But another crack of thunder so nearby has her flinch. There's no movement with the one that follows it.
The image shifts as she turns back to the altar.
A pair of small hands lift, much too small to belong to an adult, and cross at an angle one hand atop the other with palms facing out. Her gloves are a dusty red with yellow bracing the backs of her knuckles, sleeves tucked into guards at tiny wrists.]
I am Sheena!
[Her voice is just as small, young--she's only seven--but it's loud to her. She can feel her heart beating, feel it racing; it's in her ears, in her head, in her throat. She's nervous, so nervous, but she has the adults from the village with her. She can do this.
...But the crackling, almost indefinite form that appears before her, gazing down at her with terrible, terrible eyes utters out something so alien that it's all she can do to stay standing there, her vision filled with those eyes.]
What... is he saying...?
[Panic crawls into her voice.]
Grandpa, I don't know what he's saying!
[The bizarre voice continues, humming like electricity between metal rods, and using a language she can't even begin to comprehend. Annoyance at the disruption. Challenge.
Feet slide against the floor as she backs away, allowing better view of the Spirit.
Volt.
Form fading in and out, forming and reforming, purple-hued lightning wrapping around a denser core, and eyes that somehow don't belong to that face set above the mouth somehow carved by that lightning--fanged, perpetual grin. A bolt strikes the ground by her foot which sends her sprawling in the opposite direction. Shouts. Voices calling to her, urging her to rise and try, but--]
I can't! I don't know what he's saying! Someone tell me what he's saying!!
[Whether it's shock or terror, there's no waver of sobs in her voice, just a flat demand. She needs to know. She needs to know! She can't hear it, but her breaths come too quickly and her vision swims for a second; swallowing, she picks herself up to face the Spirit, but...]
Stop!
[She's shrieking at it, now, and her hands fly to her head to try and block out the noise.]
I can't understand you!
[...Which seems to be the final insult Volt's willing to take. A magic circle crackles to life somewhere behind her. When the scene turns to it--when she turns, the voices of adults--shouting before--become suddenly violently clear. They rush out of the circle, though a few aren't so lucky. Lightning rains down within the circle, and between that and the shouts and Volt still speaking, she...
She's sent flying by the next bolt, off the dais and to the floor, sliding over it past the foot of the steps. The old man's there, arms wrapping swiftly around her, and he murmurs to her little things, reassuring things, his face filling her vision instead of the horror around her, but she catches a glimpse past his shoulder of the others gathering the injured and racing for the entrance.
But Volt isn't finished.
Screams. Shouts. Cries of alarm and pain. Trained adults fleeing for their lives from the wrath of a Summon Spirit all because... because she couldn't control it. The old man sends her running towards the entrance, tells her Go!, and she tries, desperately wanting to keep her eyes to the front, but she can see the bodies and her vision swims.
She stops abruptly when she hears one more hit the ground as she reaches that threshold between the altar room and freedom.]
[The wail that rips from her throat is what forces her out of the dream, lurching and reaching for nothing though the sound is more a drawn out groan in the waking world. Sheena, refusing the pay this world any heed (she knows the SFC's probably broadcasting after Zelos' and some of the others' she's seen crop up on the network, but she doesn't care, so it doesn't enter her mind solidly enough to bother), curls up, arms around her knees and her face pressed against them. She forces her breathing to slow, shoulders trembling. It works for a second. Just before she breaks down again, whimpering apologies to the fallen and their families all over again.]
[ooc: Feel free to try and interact with her within the memory, or talk to her afterwards.She needs hugs. Now in the right comm!]
You can do this, Sheena.
[Everything wavers, and maybe it's the addressed shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It jerks, then, as she whips herself upright, sets her shoulders. It's natural to be uneasy in a place like this, but she can overcome it. These people believe in her, and she believes in herself. She's trained for this. Even if it's frightening, she can do it!
But another crack of thunder so nearby has her flinch. There's no movement with the one that follows it.
The image shifts as she turns back to the altar.
A pair of small hands lift, much too small to belong to an adult, and cross at an angle one hand atop the other with palms facing out. Her gloves are a dusty red with yellow bracing the backs of her knuckles, sleeves tucked into guards at tiny wrists.]
I am Sheena!
[Her voice is just as small, young--she's only seven--but it's loud to her. She can feel her heart beating, feel it racing; it's in her ears, in her head, in her throat. She's nervous, so nervous, but she has the adults from the village with her. She can do this.
...But the crackling, almost indefinite form that appears before her, gazing down at her with terrible, terrible eyes utters out something so alien that it's all she can do to stay standing there, her vision filled with those eyes.]
What... is he saying...?
[Panic crawls into her voice.]
Grandpa, I don't know what he's saying!
[The bizarre voice continues, humming like electricity between metal rods, and using a language she can't even begin to comprehend. Annoyance at the disruption. Challenge.
Feet slide against the floor as she backs away, allowing better view of the Spirit.
Volt.
Form fading in and out, forming and reforming, purple-hued lightning wrapping around a denser core, and eyes that somehow don't belong to that face set above the mouth somehow carved by that lightning--fanged, perpetual grin. A bolt strikes the ground by her foot which sends her sprawling in the opposite direction. Shouts. Voices calling to her, urging her to rise and try, but--]
I can't! I don't know what he's saying! Someone tell me what he's saying!!
[Whether it's shock or terror, there's no waver of sobs in her voice, just a flat demand. She needs to know. She needs to know! She can't hear it, but her breaths come too quickly and her vision swims for a second; swallowing, she picks herself up to face the Spirit, but...]
Stop!
[She's shrieking at it, now, and her hands fly to her head to try and block out the noise.]
I can't understand you!
[...Which seems to be the final insult Volt's willing to take. A magic circle crackles to life somewhere behind her. When the scene turns to it--when she turns, the voices of adults--shouting before--become suddenly violently clear. They rush out of the circle, though a few aren't so lucky. Lightning rains down within the circle, and between that and the shouts and Volt still speaking, she...
She's sent flying by the next bolt, off the dais and to the floor, sliding over it past the foot of the steps. The old man's there, arms wrapping swiftly around her, and he murmurs to her little things, reassuring things, his face filling her vision instead of the horror around her, but she catches a glimpse past his shoulder of the others gathering the injured and racing for the entrance.
But Volt isn't finished.
Screams. Shouts. Cries of alarm and pain. Trained adults fleeing for their lives from the wrath of a Summon Spirit all because... because she couldn't control it. The old man sends her running towards the entrance, tells her Go!, and she tries, desperately wanting to keep her eyes to the front, but she can see the bodies and her vision swims.
She stops abruptly when she hears one more hit the ground as she reaches that threshold between the altar room and freedom.]
[The wail that rips from her throat is what forces her out of the dream, lurching and reaching for nothing though the sound is more a drawn out groan in the waking world. Sheena, refusing the pay this world any heed (she knows the SFC's probably broadcasting after Zelos' and some of the others' she's seen crop up on the network, but she doesn't care, so it doesn't enter her mind solidly enough to bother), curls up, arms around her knees and her face pressed against them. She forces her breathing to slow, shoulders trembling. It works for a second. Just before she breaks down again, whimpering apologies to the fallen and their families all over again.]
[ooc: Feel free to try and interact with her within the memory, or talk to her afterwards.
no subject
Maybe.
[But she reaches for it with her bare hand, fingertips brushing against it without taking it from Zelos just yet.]
But I think I prefer something like this with the memories it has.
no subject
He chuckles a little, trying not to sound nervous.]
You actually remember anything from that night? You were completely hammered.
no subject
Whether it's because she's exhausted or in thought, she doesn't catch any hint of nervousness.]
I remember enough.
[Even if it's a lot of foggy feelings more than exact events.]
I remember laughing and things just... being... nice.
no subject
Things were nice that night, just as Zelos and Sheena, not the Chosen and the Chief. She could let go and have fun and he could let go because she was so inebriated that he didn't think she'd remember much of that night.
Maybe he was a little drink too, some of it was a blur. The tacky ring definitely was. He doesn't remember buying it. But he does remember her face when he gave it to her.
And they both remembered enough to know it was nice.
With a swallow he carefully he slides the ring onto her finger.]
Yeah.
[It's a lame response, lame as that night on the lake, but it's the only one he can think to give.]
no subject
It's like an oxymoron, being with Zelos being nice. She'll probably think back on this later and object as vocally as she can to any mention of that being the case, that she's only thinking like this because Zelos distracted her from that memory with a better one. Anything. Right now, that thought doesn't even occur. It's just... strange.]
Yeah.
[And it doesn't matter if it's a lame response, because it's true.]
no subject
No.
He closes his eyes, letting out a very quiet sigh, and stays even as every corner of his mind tells him it's a terrible idea, that he'll mess up, that he's not worth a damn.
He'd rather be a rock than a coward.]
If you want, I'll stay until you can get back to sleep.
no subject
There's some hazy memory of being sick this calls to mind. Sheena bites the inside of her lip and her voice is the sort of quiet of someone sure of their answer but not of their words.]
I... mm, I'd... appreciate that.
no subject
Instead he fluffs her pillow a bit then stands to get a chair and sit by her bedside. The last time he'd done this she'd been ill, in a haze, on that same journey. He doesn't think she remembers that he stayed by her side, putting cool cloths on her feverish forehead. It's different this time, knowing she's fully aware of his presence. He has to lock his ankles around the chair legs so he doesn't bolt.]
Go on to sleep. I promise you won't have another nightmare.
[It's not a promise he can keep, but somehow he sounds confident anyway. Like always.]