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Post by Deleted on Feb 22, 2015 23:45:03 GMT
Opal StroleWhat exactly was he doing? That was the question that kept running through Damian's head with every move he made. He was pushing himself too far without enough time to actually heal. How he'd made it all the way to the forest in the first place was beyond him, but he was still taking constant breaks. He couldn't keep putting weight like this on his right arm, it was hard enough to use. And since only one of his wings was out, the one he couldn't completely close, he was even more out of balance. Not to mention that crutches on uneven ground and slippery, damp leaves was hard enough as is. So why was he here? Right, Opal had told him to come out here, well, more like asked him. It had been important to her for him to get whatever was left out here, but important enough for her to ask him to go out, on his own? After what had happened? Apparently. The forest no longer seemed like a welcome place. It was a little before midnight, and the dark trees loomed over Damian, as if making fun of the fact that he could no longer soar up into their branches. Rude. The point was that as the lone half-blood stopped to rest again, he couldn't help but be hyperaware of his surroundings. He looked around, searching for any sign that anyone might be nearby. He'd let out an owl screech without hesitation, no matter how many people it woke up. He hated not being able to fly away.
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 23, 2015 0:12:17 GMT
It wasn't the temptation of wanting to strike again that pressed Shadow to follow Damian through the trees at the snail's pace. It was more wanting to make sure that he found what she sent him to find, to trust that he could do it. She wore her black jumpsuit and mask to be on the safe side, hair streaked with red hair extension clips, red lipstick that didn't make her feel as dangerous as usual. Black boots. Dull expression. Crouched behind a tree, silent, watching, waiting, breathing.
"He killed your parents.. and he's trying to kill you.."
Opal could hardly stand the anticipation and guilt of turning Damian's love, Cecelia, on him. He had protected her for so long, but she was human. And it was true that she felt protective over the girl because of that. But Dami was a good guy, even Opal had to admit it. He didn't deserve this. But it's what he had gotten. And him and Opal both would have to live with it for the rest of their lives.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2015 0:35:35 GMT
It was a small sound from nearby that made Damian convince himself to keep moving. It probably hadn't even been either of the assassins. It could have been a critter, squirrel, maybe another nocturnal bird or something, anything, but even then Damian was too paranoid to care. He looked around again uncertainly, not knowing what exactly he'd do to defend himself if it was somebody. "W-who's there?"
Nobody. He was just freaking out, right? Nothing to worry about.
"Don't look back, don't look back, it's nothing, you're just imagining things," were among the things that Damian started murmuring quietly to himself in a bit of an attempt to calm himself down. He hated not having anyone to talk to, actually, nobody to distract him from the situation and make the walk seem a little faster, but he'd rather not have told anyone he was going out at all. While he was like this? They'd stick him back in bed.
Finally he reached the edge of the forest that bordered the tundra, and he looked to the right and the left, searching for the tree on the paper (though he was going by memory). After a little while he recognized the gnarled roots of one of them and tried maneuvering around it to find the root in particular he was looking for. Night vision helped, but it was actually moving around that was hard.
Oh there it was. Great. How to actually get it without falling on his face? Um...
"Of course you didn't plan for that, you idiot," Damian said to himself sarcastically, as if anyone could hear him.
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 23, 2015 0:44:23 GMT
Opal followed swiftly and silently. That was too close, she thought, but she knew he hadn't been worried about her. The assassin clambered behind a root of a nearby tree in a position that she could see well, and Damian seemed to be having some trouble. *POPS UP* HIII A DAMI! WHATCHA DOING BUDDY!? AREN'T YOU HAPPY TO SEE ME!?
A slight smile as he considered a way to collect the items. Part of her was worried, threatening to stop him. It's too obvious a note. He'll figure it out the cautious side of her warned. But the reasonable, kinder part of her countered, I can just knock him out and keep him in the base as a.. guest. I have and can get better equipment anyway. He would be safer with me.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2015 1:20:36 GMT
Damian half-stood, half-leaned there for a while wondering just how exactly he was going to do this...
He wished he could do it without falling on his face. He sighed and let go of one of the crutches, gripping the other with both of his arms and he tried to slowly let himself down, though it was really awkward and clumsy. Finally he got to the ground and then lay on his stomach, reaching under the root. He had been about to try to get the canisters but- a note? Damian decided to grab that first and sat up as best he could, getting a little more light so he could read the words on the crinkled paper a bit better, though he didn't need it.
You didn't do anything wrong by telling. Wait, what? What was Opal talking about-? About giving Cecelia up? That couldn't be it, the only person he had told about that was Cecelia...
...and Shadow.
Damian's eyes widened in realization and he threw the paper away as though it had been on fire. Forget the tins, forget how sincere Opal might have seemed, this had been a trap and he had just fallen for it. There was a frantic scramble to try and get up on his crutches, rather clumsily, but somehow he managed to get on them and he tried getting away as fast as he could.
Around a bunch of twisted roots, with crutches, however, going fast was not a good option, and of course he tripped. And landed hard. Ow. He tried to get up again, a bit slower this time, but he still looked around with a panicked expression on his face. "L-look I know you're there! I know who you are!"
It was supposed to be a threat though it might not have been the best idea in the world.
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 23, 2015 23:49:56 GMT
Ah, the reaction.
Would have been nice if he at least considered that I might be trying to help him? Opal thought agonizingly, muttering a few curses, mostly about feces in it's most fierce terms, and crouch-running to intercept the fleeing Damian.
Little need, as Opal soon had found that Damian had managed to fall. Painfully. Opal winced, pulled her mask over her head, figuring there wouldn't be much point in hiding her identity from him anymore, licked her lips as he began calling out a scrawny warning.
Damian's back turn, Opal, stepped out, carefully, hair behind her shoulders and a sincere, honest expression on her face. She took a breath, held her hands out in the universal sign of peace, and stopped a few feet from the boy as his head swiveled back around at the conclusion of his pitiful cry.
"So I figured," Opal admitted, kneeling down, on her knees, hands still out. It was supposed to be a gesture of her putting herself at his level, and she could only hope that's how it would appear. "I... I haven't done - and won't do - anything to Cecelia. I promise. You have my word, even if it might be a rat carcass left in the sun for too long. And I promise that ointment won't injure you more than... than I already have." Opal gulped. "I lost it. You know that. And I'm genuinely sorry."
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Post by Deleted on Feb 24, 2015 6:53:26 GMT
Damian didn't bother hiding the fact that he didn't want Shadow- Opal- whoever she was getting near him and he started scooting back as best he could. He only stopped when she stopped trying to move closer and he could see there were no weapons in her hands. But that didn't mean there wouldn't be any somewhere else.
Anger bubbled up in his chest, and it was obvious by the uncharacteristic frown that her presence, whether neutral or otherwise, was not welcome around him. He made a point to focus his glare on something other than Opal, because he didn't want to look at her. Not if it meant accidentally provoking something he'd rather leave forgotten. He used the time she seemed to give him to grab his crutches and struggle back to standing upright.
"Leave her out of this," he hissed, still not facing her but not moving away because he had things he wanted to say, he couldn't fight but the rage anger needed somewhere to go, and so it went into his words. "She doesn't deserve any of this, she's been hurt enough by everything that's happened."
"If your gift is so precious than why give it to me? Why not save it for all your buddies, or heck, you could have given it to any of the people you murdered. Just what kind of game are you playing here? You torture me, my friends, you kill others and then you try to apologize?" He didn't understand why, he wasn't thinking straight, why insult the person who could easily end his life, but he was too angry to care. "I want to believe you, really I do, but whatever your reason is, grief, whatever, you've gone too far. So you can keep your apology, and your pity. I made a mistake coming here."
The words had come out so much more harshly than he'd meant, he hadn't planned on even saying most of them, but they'd spilled out before he could stop. He almost left that way, he almost just went back and he secretly decided to see if he could convince anyone about her identity. The half-blood started limping away again but stopped and sighed before getting far. "If it's important enough to you I can take the ointment but I won't make any promises to use it. I think you can understand why I'm reluctant to trust you." He could give her that, right?
Fine. One more chance.
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 24, 2015 23:49:46 GMT
Opal took a breath, calming herself, closed her eyes. She knew she deserved the bitter, cold words flung at her, but it was instinctual that she wanted to roar up and engulf the pitiful boy in rage and his own blood. But she couldn't. Wouldn't. Refused to. And as he started limping away, Opal stood, hands by her side, and turned on her heels, her fingers carefully making they're way to her belt.
"I'm not going to lie and say you're not right," She began carefully at his proposition, dainty though strong fingers catching the cloth she hadn't had to use in so long. "And trust is a delicate thing. I'm not stopping any time soon. I don't need you, or Rosemary, or Cecelia to tell me that I can if I want. I can't. I'm physically and emotionally incapable." Opal took another deep breath, held the gas-cloth carefully in her fingers. "And you know too much. I should have known this would happen. So it's my fault, really. I could have kept my big, sorry trap shut and let you all burn in fear, but no. So I have to fix what I've screwed up."
And she took a step forward, her muscles hot with adrenaline, but her mind slowed with sorrow. She wasn't planning on killing him. Just healing. And keeping. And threatening the scientist she was paying to work on a mind-wipe serum faster before she would storm them and kill them all would make it all easier too, she figured.
Another step, easier now, constant. A pitying look crossed Opal's face as she approached, a constant speed, preparing to lunge and run.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2015 3:09:58 GMT
Damian paused a bit after hearing Cecelia's name mentioned, part of him feeling guilty for saying all of what he had. At the same time though, why should he be sorry? After everything that Opal had done, was there any hope? Of course he wanted to believe there was but he simply wasn't sure anymore. "I don't need you, or Rosemary, or Cecelia to tell me that I can if I want. I can't. I'm physically and emotionally incapable."
"Then you're already a lost cause," Damian's voice was a mixture of bitterness and maybe...sadness? For all that could have been yet had been slashed by the same knife that had ended so many lives.
"And you know too much." Oh no. Then the owl half-blood froze, mostly in fear. Because if this was going where he thought it would then he was not making it back to the academy tonight. And that was if he was lucky and ever did.
For too long the air had been stuck in his throat, and as he heard footsteps rushing at him he took another deep breath, expanding his lungs as fully as possible, preparing to let out another screech like he should have done the first time--
But he didn't get the chance.
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 25, 2015 3:22:46 GMT
|This thread is so sad|
Opal was at him in moments. Damian seemed to be in some kind of trance, a loss of his muse to life. He know's there's no point in running, she thought despairingly. So she stopped behind him and pressed the cloth to his face, strong arms resistant to any scrabbling. "Sh," she whispered, a tear threatening her ego. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise..." And it was her word. Not the false kind she gave Cece, not the lies she tore at with bare fingers that she herself had fortified.
The world was teasing her, Opal realized. He brown eyes softened for a moment, her grip weakened for a spit second but then stronger than ever. She held her breath, not just to keep the invisible, scentless fumes out of her lungs, but also for fear of herself. An actual fear that she might not recover from the devastation she would leave. Is the price of cleansing the world of the half-bloods really worth it?
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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2015 3:37:35 GMT
The painfully familiar cloth was what cut off the call before Damian could sound it. He raised one hand to try and pry Opal's off, this couldn't be happening again. He held his breath as long as he could, struggling, fighting, because he was scared.
He was afraid.
Maybe it was her words, maybe it was that he simply couldn't hold his breath anymore, but soon enough the half-blood's eyes closed and his body started to slump, half supported by his crutches and half by the person who'd forced him to use them in the first place.
And then the world faded to black.
[[ AND THE MUN STARTED TO CRY I AM JSUT ASLKAFLHAFKAFL ]]
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 25, 2015 4:04:55 GMT
|Sh, sh, it's okay, it's okay. No pain no gain. Sh.. sh.... Shhh...|
Damian was heavier than Opal remembered.
It took her some time to get him to the ground safely, partly because of the tears in her eyes and the invisible ache in her chest, but majorly her fear of injuring him further without trying to.
With him laying there and her crouched by his side, everything just seemed... darkly warm. It was like a monster had embraced Opal, pressing her closer, and though she fought to escape, she relaxed in it's haze.
Funny that. I would bet that's how Damian feels, Opal thought with minimal humor.
And so she tucked the gas cloth away, took a shaky breath and whipped away the tears that pierced her mascara. Let another tear creep down her cheek, running from her, it's stream a path of doubt and envy, the way rain water falls down a window; Slick and tricky, pausing at every fork. Should I take the path of my father? Opal thought, reflecting on the idea, Or my heart?
The girl pushed it all away, focused more on tucking the ointment canisters into a pocket, then hefting Damian over her shoulders in a very un-girly way. Heck, who sees a masked girl carrying a winged half-blood? No one.
And so back in the base, where it all started, with Damian rested in the couch and a lock fastened on the hatch, Opal pondered her options. What am I doing? Her head raced with doubts and concerns and promptings.
So she reached into one of the tins, scooped a bit of the waxy paste into her fingers-
And applied a touch.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2015 4:42:46 GMT
Damian faintly remembered the haze that came after the gas. This time since he hadn't had his head bashed in, however, he might have slept for a little longer. The emerge from darkness was slower this time for sure, his body didn't register an immediate threat and therefore didn't try to speed along the process. He'd started blinking again but remained in a fuzzy state of mind, not really able to comprehend much until Opal touched him.
It wasn't that it had hurt, it had just been the jumpstart to Damian's nerves that shook off the lingering effects and rendered him now fully awake. Opal probably found out when as soon as she touched him the boy tensed, blue eyes snapping open and assessing the situation with unnatural (or perhaps more natural, with his owl DNA) speed.
While whatever she had been doing had not caused pain (rather a slight...tingling?) on his shoulder he still didn't want to take the chance and he tried moving away from her (to the point of being pressed against the back of the couch) and tried to stop himself from accidentally making very quiet nervous cooing owl noises.
"W-what are you doing--"
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 25, 2015 4:53:24 GMT
"Helping you. Like I promised myself I would," Opal responded calmly, eyes mellow.
She dabbed her fingers in the jell again.
Leaned forward to try and apply it to his wing, which she had taken the liberty of propping on her legs earlier. Her head swarmed again as soon as she recognized fear. It reminded her of all the little cartoons with the angel and the devil on a character's shoulder. Don't do it! Kill him now! Don't waste your materials! Said the red gremlin. No! He's a kind man, and should be treated humbly. He's not to be harmed more than you have already done, the white beauty counter.
Opal couldn't hide a giggle, more of a humored, kindly chuckle than a deranged lunatic's hymn.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 25, 2015 5:44:57 GMT
Damian relaxed only a tiny bit due to the fact that once again, Opal didn't seem to be trying to cause him immediate harm, though still... He had tried shaking his wing to get her off it but immediately regretted the decision when greeted with the not so much painful but very uncomfortable and internal sensation of tugging on stitches. The only reason he didn't move it further was because he didn't want to hurt himself more, or upset Opal because he didn't want her lashing out again.
To distract himself from just how terrified he was, he looked at his right shoulder, wincing not from pain but from seeing the scarred and stitched tissue exposed, and very, very lightly prodded the ointment with his finger. Then Damian rubbed his fingers together, kind of squinting at the tiny bit of the jell on them, determining that it was at least not immediately harmful.
...Opal seemed sincere about trying to help but...
"...would you mind telling me why you want to help?" he asked quietly, reluctant to break the silence that had occurred after her out-of-the-blue laugh, but he wanted to know.
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 26, 2015 4:29:30 GMT
Opal hardly glance up, not even when Damian inspected the ointment. He had a right to be hesitant, but she wished they could trust her. But then they'd end up in more pain. I need the struggle sometimes, her first-person angel reasoned. The devil grimaced, flashed a bird.
The assassin blinked away the stupid daydream.
"A monster is alive, right?" Opal responded, her face focusing very intently on what she was doing, but her eyes glazed with thought. "And anything that's alive - in animalistic terms - has instincts and opinions and personality." She let the question hang a moment or two. "Half-bloods are human - partly anyway. And when I'm in my most sane modes, I realize that. Guilt grasps me. And then I get trapped in my goals." Now she was just speaking allowed. And her fingers traced scratched delicately, the lightest touch that was meant to be soothing and yet powerfully aware.
Opal continued. "Scientists say humans are animals, due to evolution and what-not. If that's true, then half-bloods are just magnified versions of humans, though not half monkey." She giggled, trying to imagine that. And not the thirty-two year-old she'd killed a year back, who had been half orangutan. "So why humans have this goal to wipe half-bloods out is beyond comparable to reason. And those of us that are true humans are afraid at first, then guilty, then cover our guilt with fear and the pain of others." Opal frowned. She wasn't sure where she was going with that. She was speaking her mind and heart, and it felt right.
"I'm helping because I need to fix my mistakes. I went to far. I was sleep-deprived. Pushed you to you're limits and jumped across to drag you down with me. I'm human, Damian. I'm guilty."
|My God that is so inspirational. ♥|
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Post by Deleted on Feb 26, 2015 5:22:09 GMT
"A monster is alive, right?" Damian started to say, "Did you just call me a-" but Opal cut him off and that's when he decided to shut up for a bit and just listen. She had points but he still didn't like her talking about him like some sort of what, animal? He had wings, he had an extra vocal box, he had instincts but as far as he was concerned he was still as much human as he was owl.
"Then just stop," Damian said, tone rather neutral. "Stop killing, causing pain, if not for the sake of others than just so you stop hurting yourself."
He moved his wing very slightly again, almost as though asking if she was done with it and letting her know that despite her efforts to help he did not like her touching his wing. Damian never liked anyone touching his wings. The feathers were sensitive, the wings in themselves were delicate and if somebody made one wrong move he'd be grounded for life. He couldn't live like that.
While he waited though, he looked around the room, frowning when his eyes fell upon the closed, and likely locked, hatch. Maybe if she left he'd be able to try to get over there--
"Uh...where are my crutches?"
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 26, 2015 23:32:29 GMT
Opal ignored the comments about how she should just stop. Instead, she just leaned back, watching the wounds like a mother would a child playing in the sand on a warm, calming beach. She tilted her head, checking to make sure the ointment was already doing it's work. He didn't get it, Opal thought under the skin. If humans are part animal, I have instincts. I'm physically a monster in addition to mentally. Opal grinned. His questions weren't surprising. "You won't need them," she responded with a flick of her hand, waving away the idea. The black-haired girl studied his face, her hands in her lap. She sat there, quiet, smiling slightly, for a while. The lock was strong, and the code too strong for anyone but herself. Opal felt comfortable, knowing that she could block an attack if necessary anyway. So she stood, drifted to the large TV at the side of the room, and turned it on. A bright glow came from it, and she turned back to Damian, a look of trust on her smooth face, and held out the remote for the boy. "You're a guest."|A guest for how long, I wonder  | |
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Post by Deleted on Feb 27, 2015 3:06:46 GMT
Damian didn't like that she didn't comment too much about the subject. He didn't like that she was smiling about it either.
"...uh...I kind of do..." he started, pressing his lips together in a thin line for the moment he didn't speak before he did again. "I don't like being in one place for too long-- just to walk around the room or anything would be nice." He hated being that one guy but honestly he'd feel better knowing he could at least get around.
He accepted the remote, a somewhat confused look on his face from the gesture. Guest?
"I'm your hostage," he corrected, somewhat bitterly. Then he sighed and changed the subject. "So what does that ointment do exactly?"
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 27, 2015 3:13:40 GMT
The girl shook her head, tilted her head. "You are a guest. A housed guest. Unless you trust me, I find no reason to trust you more than mutual pity. So the lock stays." She ducked into the storage room, swing around the door frame to grab her violin case, bored. Then, flopping down on a love-seat, she set the instrument in her lap, met Damian's gaze.
"The ointment heals. Fast. I swear, on anything you wish me to swear it on. It's quite amazing, actually. You'll see. Any moment now you'll find your minor scrapes and bruises gone." She smiled warmly, looked over at the television. "Are you going to use that, or should I play in the other room so you can?"
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Post by Deleted on Feb 27, 2015 3:38:19 GMT
The owl half-blood sighed. The lock wasn't the problem-- well it was, just not the one he was referring to. But fine. He wouldn't try to argue more. He raised a skeptical eyebrow when Opal described the healing properties of the ointment, then checked to see if she was right by prodding his left shoulder. It had only suffered a bit of a bash and bruising but when he touched it...it felt...fine? The shock might have been written on his face.
"Woah..." Weird. Not that he was complaining. He looked up at her next question, fumbling a bit for the remote, he'd just had it in his hands, where could it have- oh there it was -and turned it off with a click. He didn't like TV all that much anyways.
"Go ahead and play, I don't mind." It beat wallowing in silence anyway. What Damian would have given for paper and a pencil though...
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 27, 2015 3:45:48 GMT
The girl smiled again, eyes darting back to the boy. "Alright," she agreed, unlatching the case with a heavy click, and pulling the lid open. Her hands automatically prepared the instrument, watching keenly as Damian actually seemed... afraid to watch the TV. "Let me know if I can get you anything," she assured him, lifting the bow to the strings, testing the tone, adjusting.
|Short, sorry|
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Post by Deleted on Feb 27, 2015 6:54:14 GMT
"..." Damian was reluctant to ask for anything at first, since he didn't exactly consider these circumstances friendly and frankly didn't want to make Opal mad at all...
...but...
This could be the first step? Maybe to getting to know Opal as Opal, without the literal mask or the figurative one. "Actuallyyyyyy...." he sighed. "You wouldn't happen to have any paper around? A pencil? Or a book?" He was obviously really uncertain about asking for anything, but he was trying. It was a start right.
[[ you waited hours and I farted this at you I am such trash lol ]]
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 27, 2015 21:36:44 GMT
|Oh, don't be too hard on you. Only recycling Jk| Setting down her violin carefully, like a mother would return her child to a crib, Opal smiled pure-hearted, her long hair draping over her face slightly. "Of course! I'll see what I have.." She responded energetically, standing and approaching a small bookshelf at the edge of the room. Opal bent over, thumbed through a few books, and selected a few short books, a pad of paper, and a pen. Holding the items out, Opal approached Damian again, set the items on the coffee table, and scooted the table closer to the boy. "Help yourself. I can get letters out, or something. You choose. Again, anything else you need, let me know." Opal smiled, returned to her seat, and tested the strings once more. The girl pursed her lips, eyes rolling up, and lightly played what she could of an unrecognizable song. After a few more tries, she managed to let herself sink into playing. Titanium. Opal wasn't sure why she picked that song. She'd never played it before, but she just... felt like it. She felt her muscles relax into the rhythmical motions, the simplicity of stress-relief, the calming, whine of the strings. |
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Post by Deleted on Feb 28, 2015 3:33:13 GMT
Damian nodded and reached for the notepad and pen, and though usually he would have preferred a pencil, he didn't mention it. He needed to work on his more free-stroke style anyway. He murmured a small "Thanks" and twirled the pen in his hand, half to get used to the weight and half because he always needed to do something with his hand if any drawing item was in it.
Truthfully he didn't mind her playing. It kind of made it easier to draw, anyway. After a bit of tapping to the beat (quietly) the boy brought his good leg closer to his chest and set the notepad on it, using quick and somewhat lazy pen strokes to sketch a simple background. There was a lake, a few trees, somewhat messy though still not half bad.
There honestly wasn't much to be said, he certainly didn't want to interrupt.
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 28, 2015 4:01:04 GMT
The song ended and Opal wiped a dribble of sweat from her hairline with the cuff of her shirt. The girl sighed, closed her eyes, and set the instrument in her lap, reflecting. I can't keep him here forever. That's cruel. He really would become a caged animal. Sighing again, Opal stood, stepped closer to Damian, and peered over his shoulder at a fair distance from the backside of the couch. As she did so, she examined the wounds. They looked less deep, but it would take a while for it to get completely filtered through his system, to heal the wounds and knit the scars more closely.
That's nice, Opal remarked, but her eyes were trained on Damian. She didn't know why. Her brown eyes scanned his expression, observant, keen, kind.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 28, 2015 4:32:07 GMT
Of course the possibility and worry had always lingered at the back of his mind. That he'd never get out, whether that meant being kept alive but captive, or being killed. Which was part of the reason he was drawing actually. It wasn't so much to vent as it was to distract himself from the situation.
Damian tried to ignore the assassin looming over his shoulder, pausing ever so slightly for just a second before pretending he hadn't noticed. He could feel her staring at him though. He shifted a bit, keeping his eyes forced on the paper and he kept drawing.
"Would you mind not staring at me?"
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Post by Opal Strole on Feb 28, 2015 5:13:05 GMT
The assassin blinked his eyes away, resisting the burn on her cheeks. "Sorry," she mumbled, shifting backwards, leaning against a wall. "I'm not that great at non-aggressive social situations unless I'm putting up an act, believe it or not." Opal grinned slightly, looking at her boot-clad feet, smile disappearing. The girl shrugged then, pushed herself off the wall, and started into the storage room. "I'll leave you alone. Probably all you want right now; to not have me around." Another shrug, a bit of a sigh, and the door closing behind her, violin left on her seat, words still in the air.
The storage room felt musty to Opal. Or maybe it was just her.
Yeah, it was her. As soon as the door was shut behind her, Opal tossed a rack of weapons over, a fit of rage. Her head throbbed. She didn't know what she was doing anymore. This isn't me! It can't be! I'm.. I'm destined to avenge my father! But she couldn't contain her confusion in her emotions. Coming to the academy was a mistake.
And so she collapse in on herself, slid down the wall, head back, eyes closed, muffled sobs. Opal cradled her head in her hands on her knees, tried to breath normally, but didn't know how to break the spell of emotion.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2015 1:54:02 GMT
Damian snorted a bit. "Well I'm not good in aggressive situations unless I'm putting up an act," he mused. "Well, I guess you kind of figured that out pretty easily...yeah..." It had been supposed to be a joke in a futile attempt to lighten the mood but uh...that had gotten kind of awkward fast. Shoot. He mentally slapped himself in the face and forced his eyes back on his paper, feeling too stupid to murmur anything other than a small "bye" as Opal left the room.
Just barely, through the small crack in the wall that the door caused (even though most of the room was soundproofed if I'm not mistaken) Damian was able to hear the crash of...a lot of things, probably weapons, though he didn't want to think about that. He looked up for a minute, but when he didn't hear anything else went back to doodling for a little while.
After some time had passed, though, Damian couldn't take the stifling silence and, dang it, he wanted to check to make sure Opal was okay?! Well...technically she was his only hope out of his whole, and it's not like he wanted her dead. Though she deserved it. He still just couldn't wrap his head around the idea of wanting to end somebody's life...
He sighed in annoyance at himself and set the sketchpad away, sitting up and testing weight on his right leg, then very slowly leaned every so slightly on the left, leaning on the couch for support nnot because it hurt so much as he didn't want to take any chances. He leaned, hobbled, and limped his way to the door, knocking somewhat quietly, though looking away from the door because he didn't want to see what was in there.
Not again, anyway.
"O-opal?"
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Post by Opal Strole on Mar 1, 2015 2:08:12 GMT
Whipping tears away quickly, leaving a trail of smudged maskera, Opal sniffled back another sob, and drew a breath to steady her shaky breathing. "Y-yeah? I'm fine!" She shouted, scrunching her face to hold back tears and the heart throbbing in her head and chest like a broken record at the end of a song. "What's wrong?" Stupid! You implied something happened! Was Opal's first thought. Then, Please don't come in here, please don't come in here, please don't.... She couldn't let him see her like this. Not knowing that he was hurt because of how she had overreacted.
Another breath.
Breath.
Calm yourself.
It's like training. Steady your breathing, let go of your emotions, but don't push them down. Acknowledge their existence but don't acknowledge any respect. Calm yourself. Breath. Focus.
It didn't work as well as it usually did, but enough that she could stand, use the cuff of her jumpsuit and a towel nearby to clean up her face, and jump to practicing her knife-throwing on a target bored nearby, trying to, if he entered, appear busy.
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