Sometime after this thread... and shortly after this thread...
Location: Impstar Deuce "Dawn Treader", Fringe Space
Time: O'dark-thirty a.k.a. stupid o'clock a.k.a. the middle of the night - probably 3am. Or something.
Sleep came when exhaustion took her, only because sleep was not so much avoided, but hard to grasp at, because every time she closed her eyes, it was like the images were burned into the underneath of her eyelids. So, yes, maybe she was avoiding letting unconsciousness take her because seeing it made her feel sick. It coloured her dreams, which were nightmares in truth. It made her hate herself in the way she perceived her reaction to the events of Lipsec, wherein she retreated into herself, leaving little else but a living husk behind, until she was drawn out of it by the distance between herself and that world, and the need of her mind to struggle to some sort of equilibrium, again.
She hated herself, for perceived weakness. For being selfish when she had suffered no bloody injury. For not doing more, even with the fact that they had lived, anyway. In the wee hours of the night, she nursed a drink, and frantically searched her mind for anything she might have done to keep it all from happening in the first place, and crying herself to sleep in a fetal ball on the floor of the quarters she often occupied with [member="Jared Starchaser"], not wanting him to see this pathetic creature she believed she was, and giving dismissive excuses as to why she was on the floor at all.Tonight, sleep had managed to come, though with the first cycle of REM sleep, she tossed, turned, waking with a jolt to the familiar hum of the ship, shaking.
The remembrance of Lipsec had been twisted by her mind into something far worse than it ever actually was, and it felt like a movie that sucked every ounce of hope and belief from her. She sat up enough to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, trying carefully not to wake the slumbering form next to her, and propped her elbows up on her thighs, dropping her face into her unstable, waiting hands, and tears came, few and dry, teeth gritted at an attempt to keep the silence.
Location: Impstar Deuce "Dawn Treader", Fringe Space
Time: O'dark-thirty a.k.a. stupid o'clock a.k.a. the middle of the night - probably 3am. Or something.
Sleep came when exhaustion took her, only because sleep was not so much avoided, but hard to grasp at, because every time she closed her eyes, it was like the images were burned into the underneath of her eyelids. So, yes, maybe she was avoiding letting unconsciousness take her because seeing it made her feel sick. It coloured her dreams, which were nightmares in truth. It made her hate herself in the way she perceived her reaction to the events of Lipsec, wherein she retreated into herself, leaving little else but a living husk behind, until she was drawn out of it by the distance between herself and that world, and the need of her mind to struggle to some sort of equilibrium, again.
She hated herself, for perceived weakness. For being selfish when she had suffered no bloody injury. For not doing more, even with the fact that they had lived, anyway. In the wee hours of the night, she nursed a drink, and frantically searched her mind for anything she might have done to keep it all from happening in the first place, and crying herself to sleep in a fetal ball on the floor of the quarters she often occupied with [member="Jared Starchaser"], not wanting him to see this pathetic creature she believed she was, and giving dismissive excuses as to why she was on the floor at all.Tonight, sleep had managed to come, though with the first cycle of REM sleep, she tossed, turned, waking with a jolt to the familiar hum of the ship, shaking.
The remembrance of Lipsec had been twisted by her mind into something far worse than it ever actually was, and it felt like a movie that sucked every ounce of hope and belief from her. She sat up enough to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, trying carefully not to wake the slumbering form next to her, and propped her elbows up on her thighs, dropping her face into her unstable, waiting hands, and tears came, few and dry, teeth gritted at an attempt to keep the silence.
