Capris didn't scare easy.
That used to be a point of pride--that she'd scorched her nervous system clean of its wiring. That she didn't flinch, didn't cower, didn't care all that much when a blaster bit into her chest, or when a punch knocked some teeth loose.
It was the not-caring that made that scared little girl from Savareen something invulnerable.
But now she was remembering, and so the seams ripped stitch by stitch. Every step, every folly, every
limb sawed through, took huge, gulfing swipes at her chest and gutted the interior.
Kyric. Stupid, brave, noble, self- sacrificial Kyric. She didn't want him here, losing limbs and years off his life, scrapping himself from death’s door, going full-manic when the matter of her 'faith" came into question. It pulled at every string in her, simmering pain and fear and desperation. When the arm came off, it took every
atom of self control to not make a pain-blind dash forward.
"Come on'." she muttered under her breath, painfully severe in comparison to the flush of excited bodies around her.
It was then something stirred her from that complete tunnel vision.
She could only stare a moment as Ryv (
the dead guy) simply appeared in the stands, a flicker of disbelief turning steely before insecurity finally killed it. Funny. She'd harbored a trickle of resentment for the man for so long. Irrational and misplaced and now–? shallowly eroding in his presence. He was much easier to hate as some intangible "idea" that she figured Kyric would get himself killed over in his attempt to meet it.
But no, he was real and daunting and already seeing her for what she was. She felt it in the way his tone danced, the way his gaze left no room for argument. There was no fooling the dead.
"He shouldn't be in this fight to begin with." It was the only thing she could think to say.
Would things have been different if she'd been there to talk him out of it? If she'd been there at all? What had her stupid, trifling attempt to game things in his favor managed other than giving Mercy plenty of material to work with?
"I don't- " She attempted to still the small tremor in her hand,
"I don't know how to stop it. Being afraid." The thought of his death, with her at the root, was like choking down miasma.
"I don't know if I can be strong enough for him."
Ryv