[META-PRP] Sympathy Pain (Sarcel & Stryke)

[Melancholies]

 

[Melancholies]

"L-Lieutenant Cincil! You really should rethink moving around in your current condition--"

Sarcel brushed it off. She looked like s**t. She felt like s**t. She was pretty sure she looked as bad as she felt and felt as bad as she looked. Every inch of her body felt like it was wrapped in some sort of bandage (because it probably was), and walking took a considerable effort. Her ribs hurt--fractures they said--her body was too battered to walk. ******** it. She'd spent the past few nights counting her toes and her fingers and godammit if everything was there, then what did it matter? She was going stir crazy. If her body couldn't handle this, then she didn't deserve walking off of that flagship.

Besides, she was getting tired of the pity visits.

And so she wandered the hallways like a wayward soul, longing for her office but dreading the responsibility waiting behind it. She was tired, even if she didn't want to admit it. Her mind was conflicted between thoughts of wishing she had died in a blaze of glory and the notion that she still had so much longer to go if she wanted to protect the trolls she really cared about. She couldn't lead if she couldn't be relied on. Sarcel sighed.

Eventually the crowds thinned, the impromptu trolls serving as nurses left her unbothered, and Sarcel breathed. There was no doubt that they'd be back soon, but for now she could have her peace. Really, it was no different from the room with her hospital recuperacoon--solitary, quiet--but it felt less stuffy here. Less cramped. She could hold her head up high with some attempt at dignity.

She focused on her feet as she limped down the corridor, oblivious to any trolls that might be coming from the opposite direction.

leon_a_darkangel

FINALLY

 

[leon_a_darkangel]

Stryke had made it through many of his missions relatively unscathed. He had his powers to thank for that in part...his shields helped keep him safe. It wasn't like he didn't have cuts, bruises and ached from straining himself. Old injuries reminded him he wasn't immune, no matter how much he'd trained or prepared he was still only one troll. Disguised as Forger he had moved through the space missions mostly without issue, although he had also tried to keep a low profile.

That changed when he saw her. The way she moved told him how much pain she was in. Sarcel Cincil. She had been a mixture of things. His captor, his savior...a sort of odd friend in the heat of the moment. He wasn't really sure how to describe their relationship. They lived two very different lives. She was a military figure, and he had aspirations of leadership in the rebellion. But she was hurt. His pumpbiscuit thudded painfully...slowly moving towards her sort of disbelief.

Whatever pain he had been feeling didn't compare to her injuries.

"You look like you've...seen better days. Are...you alright?" He had practiced speaking in the foreign voice and tone Forger used, it was like an actor in a play prepared for their role. However, it was hard to use that voice when he was wrestling with his past. Their friendship had haunted him, and it had made him walk forward..so he stood just a few feet from her. It risked his identity being compromised...it was stupid..but he had to talk to her. He hadn't seen her since that night in Chittentown sitting high on a rooftop looking over the desert city.

Stryke's voice came out in a quieter voice next he spoke. "you shouldn't be moving around with injuries like that miss...you look exhausted." Rubbing his neck slightly as he frowned unsure how to explain himself should she question why he approached her. He was a stranger after all..what business did he have approaching a blueblood to express his concerns for her well being?

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

There were two things that Sarcel had never really received in her life. One of them was respect, and she reveled in the fact that she was finally starting to amount to something. The other was pity, because any time she showed a weakness, it resulted in backlash and punishment rather than any sort of consoling. The voice that spoke to her was unfamiliar, and even though every instinct in her body, every nerve she ever trained for combat was screaming to react, she couldn't muster the energy to do it. She stared at her feet and the stupid little slippers provided to the medical units. Despite the smock, she still had her (now tattered) jacket hung around her shoulders, like she was still trying to cling to some level of dignity.

Finally, she looked up. The yellowblood was unfamiliar, especially through her hazy, exhausted vision. This wasn't a military troll, she could tell by his garb. The volunteers, yes, maybe he was lost, or maybe he'd been hurt, just not as bad as some trolls. Every chance she got to put herself down mentally, she took. Either she'd crumble or she'd push forward. Right now she was being chastised by a volunteer.

Did she really look that bad? She'd been ignoring every protest from her body up until this point. It was a miracle she could make herself move. Every stitch felt like it was about to pop. Every bruise felt like a concave mass was missing from her frame. Breathing was the worst. Fractured her ribs, they said.

"And you shouldn't be giving unwarranted opinions to a lieutenant." She wouldn't argue that he was wrong, because he wasn't. She shouldn't be moving. She had seen better days and no, she wasn't alright, but she was always exhausted anyway so it didn't ******** matter. "Only the strong get to survive. I can walk this off. Your concern is unnecessary." Her eyes were blue and hard as they scrutinized the yellowblood.

Slowly and far from gracefully, she made an effort to shrug past the troll showing concern for her.

leon_a_darkangel

 

[leon_a_darkangel]

Stryke watched her closely, he saw the hard way she gazed at him. It made his throat tight, the soft nervous demeanor of the troll he had met nearly two sweeps ago was not the one he was speaking to. She looked older of course, from the blue that once had been grey iris, to the way she carried herself even wounded. Sarcel may have had the same voice..but the way she spoke and gazed at him now was evident how much she had changed.

Time won’t make you forget, it will make you grow and understand things.

Rumors of her rising the ranks in the military had been correct after all. Realization dawned on him. If he revealed himself to her, it would jeopardize far too many things. The reality of this fact hurt. He could not afford to lose another disguise..especially this one. More importantly, he didn't want to cause her any backlash. She had earned her way into rank, as had he as a potential officer. Nothing he had to offer was worth the heartache, nor drama his being selfish would cause.

This was the weight of living. It was the albatross both she and he wore around their necks. Perhaps in another life things could have been different. The troll before him had been shaped by her experiences, just as much as he had. Stryke clenched his teeth as he bowed his head apologetically, showing her the respect she deserved.

"O..oh. M-my...apologies lieutenant..." He played to the fact he was just a volunteer, and had innocently stepped out of line. "I did not mean offense..of course, you can walk it off. You have come this far, even in your current state you must be strong I admire that Miss." Stryke added in Forger's easy going manner, a hint of a smile forming on his face. "I couldn't help express concern forgive me. I've never worked alongside military trolls such as yourself." He added as she tried to shrug past him.

Stryke shifted his weight, he still had a slight limp of his own from strain and injuries of the past. This sore and tired, he was reminded of his old injuries before he'd gotten his powers.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

That at least made Sarcel give pause. Even the weight of walking as far as she had put a strain on her lungs, and she wheezed uncomfortably in the now close proximity to Forger. Her head turned slowly, almost unnaturally, like her spine was a rusted swivel that didn't want to move, and again she was scrutinizing the yellowblood before it. She noticed nothing, but her eyes were still harsh--pained--and her pride was visible through the cracks. "Is that it?" Her speech was still strong, her voice firm, but it slurred at the edges. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the medication. She felt a lot like she did after her fight with Flydra; like she'd been hit by a twenty-ton train.

"Come this far?" For a second, her gaze went a little hazy, "That's just it, isn't it? Trolls these nights, we all settle. This is not admirable." I am not admirable, said an unspoken voice in the back of her head. "This is the result of sweeps of failure."

And it was true. If she'd trained harder, if she'd communicated with her team better, they wouldn't have ended up like this. It was so much easier to pin the team's failure on their leader fooling around, but it felt so much more natural to blame herself for every slip up the team encountered.

"There is no bigger disappointment, nothing so bitter," The way she spat the last word made it seem like her tongue was tainted with poison, "Than letting your comrades crumble one by one by one, did you know that? We're all so obsessed with glory that the fall is twice as long as the climb." Was this glorious? Was hundreds of stitches, multitudes of bruises, and legions of lacerations glorious? She wouldn't know. She didn't care right now.

leon_a_darkangel

someone's had too many pain meds

 

[leon_a_darkangel]

Stryke watched the way she moved, and the pained expression coupled with her drugged expression. It almost unnerved him to see the way she seemed to be at war. She seemed at war with herself. Stryke couldn't bring back the loss of innocence she had so clearly lost. What if he could get through to her?

It was worth a shot. He hated to see her like this.

"Failure? Miss, you speak so little of yourself." He said with a frown pulling at his lips. "You wouldn't have risen to rank..or wear the sting of pain like you do if you had been a true disappointment." Stryke's arms crossed over his chest.

"I don't know you..but my questions are simple. Did you fight with every breath you had? What about every ounce of strength?" He asked pointedly, his gaze sharp as he held back a grunt of discomfort as he squared his shoulders. He had been knocked around like a rag doll. The old shoulder injury added to his soreness. "Those climbs we make? They were lessons. All trolls must figure out how to climb it, to go through it, and most importantly how to work through life's trials. Of course, it is one thing to climb..it's quite another to be on top of the mountain, wouldn't you say?" He added as he relaxed his arms at his side. Stryke's sighed wearily, shaking his head

So many places and times were on his mind, but none were so real as the chapter of this moment.

"Settling isn't losing ground, it means you pick your battles so you can carry on. Please excuse me if I am out of line... but you may have endured pain and injury...but you did not stop climbing once you fell, clearly." He inclined his head to her finally as he took a step back to let her have space. Her wheezing was evidence of the pain she was in, he wished he could ease her suffering..all he had to offer was his words in the hope they eased the tormented war raging inside her thinkpan.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"It wasn't enough!"

Her voice echoed down the long, empty hallway. Sarcel herself looked taken aback, her face twisted with regret and confusion. She was looking hard at Stryke now, trying to find some sort of explanation in his expression, searching his eyes for answers. She didn't find any.

"It wasn't enough..." She spoke again, softer this time. Her outburst brought her back to some level of clarity. "It shouldn't have happened the way it did."

Her thoughts circled back around to Kursha, how he was a captain, how she was still just a lieutenant. She wanted more, she deserved more--or she thought anyway. "Even if I fought with every ounce of determination I had, it shouldn't have... it shouldn't have happened like that." She made a sound that wanted to be a sigh, but instead it was just a gentle, tired wheeze. "How can I expect them... my comrades to rely on me, if I can't keep them safe?"

She seemed defeated.

"You wouldn't understand." She said hastily. He was a simple volunteer. He didn't know the loss of war.

But then again, pretentious as she was being, neither did Sarcel. The flagships were a battlefield, but they were hardly the battlefield. Out there, conquering planets as her livelihood called to her... if she couldn't handle zombies, could she handle that? The thought made her stomach churn with anxiety. Never good enough. Never satisfied. She'd exhaust her usefulness to the crown and then she'd be tossed aside like so many before her.

Over her dead body, of course, but the insults of her failures always dug deep into her. Branded her. She hated it.

leon_a_darkangel