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Re: Solitude

Post by Annasiel » Tue Nov 06, 2018 1:59 am

Sable's fingers were somehow more steady now than they'd been a mere minute before. They had no difficulty in undoing the helmet's clasp, seal cracking with a serpentine hiss as she worked the dome off of her suit. An eerie sense of calm filled her, one part relief, one part fear pushed beyond the point of anxiety.

"You freaking מטומטמת," she whispered, her voice barely breaking audible. It came out in a strained rasp, and it was then she realized she wasn't truly calm, not the at-ease sort. Her entire body was wound so tight that it stopped her from shaking. Inside the suit, her fingers were clenched so hard her fingernails bent against the gloves' padding. The doctor took a step towards Blair, then stopped, silent for a moment.

Then she spoke again.

"You could have died." Strained, but more matter of fact. Her face remained blank. Impassive. Staring. Then she frowned, and her brow crinkled in what could have been anger or frustration. "You are an incompetent fool. This was a simple task, and you failed it, almost killing yourself in the process. Then where would I have been? Stuck alone on this spaceship without even your worthless aid?"

The woman spat to the side and clapped her hands together. It might have been a loud gesture, if not for the heavy gloves muting the impact.

"Be more careful next time, jackal, or I might not be so quick to save you."

She needed a fix. God be, she said she would limit herself, but she needed a fix now. Her body was wound so tight it creaked when she moved, and if at any point she let the tension go, she feared the shaking would return. The starting vestiges of a headache were putting their hooks into her skull, as well. Not wanting to waste another second of her time on the reprehensible woman, Sable began to undo the rest of the suit, hanging the parts with deliberate force on the nearby hook.

She almost died. You don't hate her that much, do you?

Do you hate her more than you hate yourself?
Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

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