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video } backdated to LESS IS MORE FLOOD
[Witness Clementine bobbing around on the kitchen ceiling, legs crossed, arms folded across her chest, eyes rolled back in her head. Everything about her posture says she thinks this shit is bananas.]
You can't just not have gravity. It's a law.
[This is against science.]
[She's not having fun, she swears to God.]
spam } scott
[She wakes in a haze of pain; the space just over her heart aches and feels as though it's still bleeding. If she touches it, it might still be tacky, so she doesn't touch it, just lets herself breathe in, out, eyes still closed, telling herself no, she isn't dead, she's only dying, very, very slowly.]
[She knows he's there before she opens her eyes, of course. No way he wouldn't be there. He's one of those loyal motherfuckers, even though she's shown him nothing worth being loyal to, even though she doesn't want him here. Would rather be alone with her pain.]
[Anyway. Not going to happen.]
[She opens her eyes in the face of Scott McCall and whatever the world is doing to him at the moment, besides hurting her, hurting him through her. Her face is locked in a tight frown, the pinch of pain between her eyes, her fingers twisted almost desperately in the cot's sheet.]
spam } infirmary
[She consents to stay in the infirmary for a few days, if only because she can't conceptualize walking yet. They don't know how many times she was stabbed, but it was a lot. More than necessary, which irritates her. It's flashy and stupid to make that much of a mess. Or overconfident. She couldn't actually say which.]
[After those first few days, she slips off to her room. If anyone cares to visit her there, she is gaunt, hollow-eyed; not full of the madness she's so often known for, but of hesitation, a darkness rather than a light behind the eyes, of dullness and disconcerting fear.]
[She is drinking, of course. The minute she gets back behind her own door, she opens a bottle of whiskey. So she wavers, and she narrows her eyes at anyone who passes on the other side of her door, waiting for someone to slow, stop, come hurt her again. This time, she'll be ready.]
[No, she won't.]
[Witness Clementine bobbing around on the kitchen ceiling, legs crossed, arms folded across her chest, eyes rolled back in her head. Everything about her posture says she thinks this shit is bananas.]
You can't just not have gravity. It's a law.
[This is against science.]
[She's not having fun, she swears to God.]
spam } scott
[She wakes in a haze of pain; the space just over her heart aches and feels as though it's still bleeding. If she touches it, it might still be tacky, so she doesn't touch it, just lets herself breathe in, out, eyes still closed, telling herself no, she isn't dead, she's only dying, very, very slowly.]
[She knows he's there before she opens her eyes, of course. No way he wouldn't be there. He's one of those loyal motherfuckers, even though she's shown him nothing worth being loyal to, even though she doesn't want him here. Would rather be alone with her pain.]
[Anyway. Not going to happen.]
[She opens her eyes in the face of Scott McCall and whatever the world is doing to him at the moment, besides hurting her, hurting him through her. Her face is locked in a tight frown, the pinch of pain between her eyes, her fingers twisted almost desperately in the cot's sheet.]
spam } infirmary
[She consents to stay in the infirmary for a few days, if only because she can't conceptualize walking yet. They don't know how many times she was stabbed, but it was a lot. More than necessary, which irritates her. It's flashy and stupid to make that much of a mess. Or overconfident. She couldn't actually say which.]
[After those first few days, she slips off to her room. If anyone cares to visit her there, she is gaunt, hollow-eyed; not full of the madness she's so often known for, but of hesitation, a darkness rather than a light behind the eyes, of dullness and disconcerting fear.]
[She is drinking, of course. The minute she gets back behind her own door, she opens a bottle of whiskey. So she wavers, and she narrows her eyes at anyone who passes on the other side of her door, waiting for someone to slow, stop, come hurt her again. This time, she'll be ready.]
[No, she won't.]
