Locked Rooms (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
guillotineroom) wrote2022-11-01 10:48 pm
guillotineroom) wrote2022-11-01 10:48 pm
[elevator] [cerberus]
[ When you open your eyes again the first thing that you, and your teammates, may notice is that you are confined within an iron cage, rectangle in shape. Further inspection will reveal that outside of the cage is a large structure of sorts, reaching far above you. It kind of looks like an unfinished clock tower, really... there are spots that look finished and bolted tightly, and others that look like they had been left once and the work never thought of again.
Also, it's pretty chilly. You might get to notice that.
It's foggy and windy—the kind of wind that howls and roars, jostling your cage against the tall shaft, and every so often you feel as though you might have had the ghost of a raindrop on you. The tower-like build creaks horribly ominously in the wind, and you can see the rusted metals swaying slightly. But if you decide to look around...
Flapping above you (and not helping with the wind) is a harpy-like creature, iron chains wrapped around their talons. Though, maybe it's more like a lion? The chains are bolted to the top of your cage. There are also little indicators on the structure, the same distance apart, that seem to be declaring different levels or heights. They look horribly unhappy to be here, but they're also impressive at ignoring any call you might have for them.
There's a door to the cage, but it won't open, even if it's just a simple-looking locking mechanism. If you peer out, it's too foggy on the ground to make out very much, but you can make out nine other, tower-like structures with similarly flapping harpies. Each one, including your own, has an emblazoned emblem of every team's patron monster, so that you can see where everyone is—it's just difficult to make out exactly who may be in each one. Even more difficult to try and communicate like this.
Attached to the door is an aged metal panel with a screen and four buttons; two to choose between the team names that appear on the dark green and black screen, and two to choose whether you wish for that team to go up or down.
After a moment, a little speaker in the corner starts playing an incredibly bad quality version of this.]
Also, it's pretty chilly. You might get to notice that.
It's foggy and windy—the kind of wind that howls and roars, jostling your cage against the tall shaft, and every so often you feel as though you might have had the ghost of a raindrop on you. The tower-like build creaks horribly ominously in the wind, and you can see the rusted metals swaying slightly. But if you decide to look around...
Flapping above you (and not helping with the wind) is a harpy-like creature, iron chains wrapped around their talons. Though, maybe it's more like a lion? The chains are bolted to the top of your cage. There are also little indicators on the structure, the same distance apart, that seem to be declaring different levels or heights. They look horribly unhappy to be here, but they're also impressive at ignoring any call you might have for them.
There's a door to the cage, but it won't open, even if it's just a simple-looking locking mechanism. If you peer out, it's too foggy on the ground to make out very much, but you can make out nine other, tower-like structures with similarly flapping harpies. Each one, including your own, has an emblazoned emblem of every team's patron monster, so that you can see where everyone is—it's just difficult to make out exactly who may be in each one. Even more difficult to try and communicate like this.
Attached to the door is an aged metal panel with a screen and four buttons; two to choose between the team names that appear on the dark green and black screen, and two to choose whether you wish for that team to go up or down.
After a moment, a little speaker in the corner starts playing an incredibly bad quality version of this.]
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As much as she tries, she won't succeed. But until she realizes it, things like that will happen again and again.
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[ Ritsuka takes a deep breath and forces herself to calm. ]
No matter what she tries, she can't take it away.
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I think... for me, I'm always a little relieved when I get angry. It feels like I'm still feeling the right kind of emotions--that I'm not going numb about this.
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It's surprising, isn't it . . . that it doesn't matter that we all come back. That so many of us can heal ourselves and one another through superhuman abilities, recovering otherwise fatal injuries. That doesn't mean anything to our hearts . . . it doesn't change the way we feel about this fear and injustice. I'm glad for that.
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[ She leans more with her forehead against his, taking another careful breath and closing her eyes for a moment. There is something almost wistful in her expression. ]
Maybe it's hypocritical of me... I've been doing worse, at home. But I still want better. I want to help as best I can.
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[He lifts a hand to tug lightly at an end of her hair.]
It would be a terrible world if having done something in one situation meant we could never hope to do anything better in another, in the future.
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[ Sometimes you have to think very hard about how willing you are, ultimately, to wipe out other worlds just to give your own a chance. ]
I do, though. I do hope for better.