A first solo mission is almost never expected to go off entirely without a hitch, but Lycoris’ mother’s expectations went far beyond reasonability. That was okay. She could meet it– always did meet it. Lycoris did not fail.
This was not a failure. It was a great success, in fact, but the mess of gore at her feet that was once perhaps a person told a slightly different story. She’d never felt sick at the sight of blood, before, but there was something in the slick warmth rapidly cooling on her face and hands, sticky and tight, that turned her stomach. Something on her hurt, but she couldn’t remember what hit her.
She inhales, iron tang on the stagnant air. Exhales. Stares at the corpse for long enough that it seems almost like all the color has drained out of the area, gone to grayscale, the blood indistinguishable from the rest of the liquid muck in the warehouse. The meat and mud become one, and suddenly, she’s not sure if she’s done enough. Is this enough? Could it ever be? Her shoulders ache, but she reaches down to sink her fingers into what might have been a neck.
“Oh, shit. Cori.”
It’s almost like being hit by lightning. Her gaze jolts up, into the bafflingly yellow bright spot among the colorless surroundings: Val, standing there with wide eyes, taking the scene in. Lycoris wonders what he sees, why he’s come, but the thoughts filter uselessly away. They don’t matter, do they?
He approaches quickly, his hands on her shoulder, her wrist– coaxing her to release the dead meat. She hadn’t realized she was holding it so tightly, or that her body was so tense, as he pulls her back. “You did good,” he was saying, urging her back enough that the corpse was fully out of reach. There was a slight tremor in his voice; she could feel it as much as she could hear it, in his grip on her. “You did it. It’s time to leave it.”
She stood still, eyes still on her fallen quarry until Val turned her fully around. His hands were careful on her, trembling. She looked up at his face, the carefully schooled expression. “... I did good?” she finally asks, and he pauses.
“Yeah,” he says, wiping blood from her face. His hands are warm. His fingers tremble. Some tension seeps out of her shoulders. “Yeah. Your mother will be real pleased.”
first solo mission
This was not a failure. It was a great success, in fact, but the mess of gore at her feet that was once perhaps a person told a slightly different story. She’d never felt sick at the sight of blood, before, but there was something in the slick warmth rapidly cooling on her face and hands, sticky and tight, that turned her stomach. Something on her hurt, but she couldn’t remember what hit her.
She inhales, iron tang on the stagnant air. Exhales. Stares at the corpse for long enough that it seems almost like all the color has drained out of the area, gone to grayscale, the blood indistinguishable from the rest of the liquid muck in the warehouse. The meat and mud become one, and suddenly, she’s not sure if she’s done enough. Is this enough? Could it ever be? Her shoulders ache, but she reaches down to sink her fingers into what might have been a neck.
“Oh, shit. Cori.”
It’s almost like being hit by lightning. Her gaze jolts up, into the bafflingly yellow bright spot among the colorless surroundings: Val, standing there with wide eyes, taking the scene in. Lycoris wonders what he sees, why he’s come, but the thoughts filter uselessly away. They don’t matter, do they?
He approaches quickly, his hands on her shoulder, her wrist– coaxing her to release the dead meat. She hadn’t realized she was holding it so tightly, or that her body was so tense, as he pulls her back. “You did good,” he was saying, urging her back enough that the corpse was fully out of reach. There was a slight tremor in his voice; she could feel it as much as she could hear it, in his grip on her. “You did it. It’s time to leave it.”
She stood still, eyes still on her fallen quarry until Val turned her fully around. His hands were careful on her, trembling. She looked up at his face, the carefully schooled expression. “... I did good?” she finally asks, and he pauses.
“Yeah,” he says, wiping blood from her face. His hands are warm. His fingers tremble. Some tension seeps out of her shoulders. “Yeah. Your mother will be real pleased.”