Post by Blitzfrieg on Apr 13, 2020 0:30:41 GMT -5
Andromeda made her way past the general campsite that Toulon had set up. The past few hours....they just couldn't understand. Her hands clenched and unclenched, over and over. They couldn't understand.....they couldn't have understood....they couldn't have known.
She kept going. She could protect herself again. She was strong again. Did they even know how important that really was?
She crossed out of the perimeter, ignoring any doctors on her way. She came up over a hill, and found what she needed. Her training area. Where the masts of old ships pierced up out of the layers and layers of ruin and rubble and crap that was Funkyard. God.....she was starting to hate this place.....no.....it wasn't this place. It was the same everywhere. Just crap piled up layer after layer. History, peoples memories, lives, hopes, dreams....all of it buried under the oppressive weight of its own....helplessness.
They couldn't know.
Andromeda cracked her knuckles and looked at her arms. They were everything. Something everyone was born with but....no one knew how precious they were until they were taken away. She could still remember the pain. No anesthetic. No drugs. Nothing to dull the scraping....the cutting....but that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part came after. Laying there helpless....just....existing. Not until her father built pulleys and levers, cables and ropes. Things she could pull with her teeth and yank with her chin. Even her legs gone....just a pathetic thing scraping and biting and clawing at the world.....hoping for a shot.
Andromeda cursed and reached up with both hands, grabbing the synthetic covering on her arms and with one angry growl ripped it free. She shook the last of it off her hands, clawing it away and angrily throwing it at the ground. She did the same with her legs, steam hissing from her prosthesis as she got angrier and angrier. Soon she was crouched, huffing, panting, surrounded by the shredded remains of that synthetic covering. It was valuable. Handcrafted.....but she didn't care. It wasn't her.
That wasn't her. And she wasn't angry at Toulon. She wasn't angry at Khali. She knew better. She wasn't stupid. People made mistakes.....including her. She made the mistake of trusting anyone but herself. They might be crew....but they weren't Nakama....not yet.....they were still people. And people made mistakes. She couldn't be that lazy. She had to be stronger than that.....stronger than THEM. She had to be so strong that they needed HER. So strong that they wouldn't forget her....because she would be the one carrying them....
Her eyes flashed, and with an angry snarl she started down the hill at a dead sprint. Metal feet digging into the rubble with the ferocity of cannonballs. Steam trailing her like a cloud of pure rage, the fury of her entire helpless lifetime burning out in one moment.
She'd gotten lazy.....never again.
Andromeda hit the first mast like an angel of war, her metal arm ripping through wood as though it were nothing. As it started to fall, she was already past it, crouched feral and furious, before her arm became a blur of gunmetal serpents lashing up and out. She cleaved air and wood alike, tearing the falling beam to splinters with a flurry of lashes....and turned on the next one with twice the wrath.
But with every one that fell.....she got sharper. She got harder. Wildness became precision. Fire turned to ice. Steam filled the Hollow.....and when the last one fell....silence followed.
She wasn't returning to camp that night. She would sleep among her works, atop the layers of her own ruin.....where she felt safe.
She kept going. She could protect herself again. She was strong again. Did they even know how important that really was?
She crossed out of the perimeter, ignoring any doctors on her way. She came up over a hill, and found what she needed. Her training area. Where the masts of old ships pierced up out of the layers and layers of ruin and rubble and crap that was Funkyard. God.....she was starting to hate this place.....no.....it wasn't this place. It was the same everywhere. Just crap piled up layer after layer. History, peoples memories, lives, hopes, dreams....all of it buried under the oppressive weight of its own....helplessness.
They couldn't know.
Andromeda cracked her knuckles and looked at her arms. They were everything. Something everyone was born with but....no one knew how precious they were until they were taken away. She could still remember the pain. No anesthetic. No drugs. Nothing to dull the scraping....the cutting....but that wasn't the worst part.
The worst part came after. Laying there helpless....just....existing. Not until her father built pulleys and levers, cables and ropes. Things she could pull with her teeth and yank with her chin. Even her legs gone....just a pathetic thing scraping and biting and clawing at the world.....hoping for a shot.
Andromeda cursed and reached up with both hands, grabbing the synthetic covering on her arms and with one angry growl ripped it free. She shook the last of it off her hands, clawing it away and angrily throwing it at the ground. She did the same with her legs, steam hissing from her prosthesis as she got angrier and angrier. Soon she was crouched, huffing, panting, surrounded by the shredded remains of that synthetic covering. It was valuable. Handcrafted.....but she didn't care. It wasn't her.
That wasn't her. And she wasn't angry at Toulon. She wasn't angry at Khali. She knew better. She wasn't stupid. People made mistakes.....including her. She made the mistake of trusting anyone but herself. They might be crew....but they weren't Nakama....not yet.....they were still people. And people made mistakes. She couldn't be that lazy. She had to be stronger than that.....stronger than THEM. She had to be so strong that they needed HER. So strong that they wouldn't forget her....because she would be the one carrying them....
Her eyes flashed, and with an angry snarl she started down the hill at a dead sprint. Metal feet digging into the rubble with the ferocity of cannonballs. Steam trailing her like a cloud of pure rage, the fury of her entire helpless lifetime burning out in one moment.
She'd gotten lazy.....never again.
Andromeda hit the first mast like an angel of war, her metal arm ripping through wood as though it were nothing. As it started to fall, she was already past it, crouched feral and furious, before her arm became a blur of gunmetal serpents lashing up and out. She cleaved air and wood alike, tearing the falling beam to splinters with a flurry of lashes....and turned on the next one with twice the wrath.
But with every one that fell.....she got sharper. She got harder. Wildness became precision. Fire turned to ice. Steam filled the Hollow.....and when the last one fell....silence followed.
She wasn't returning to camp that night. She would sleep among her works, atop the layers of her own ruin.....where she felt safe.