[The amount of relief Suzuha is beginning to feel in the moment Kotoha speaks that precious bit of anesthetic into existence is comparable only to the guilt that slowly snakes in behind it. The way her voice tapers off into a painful rasp, that expression on her face—she can tell this is asking a lot of Kotoha, all for her sake. She stares up at her with all the gratitude she can muster in her eyes, and it’s only then that the threat of tears feels like a real one.]
I owe you one. [Her gaze shifts between each of them.] All of you.
[Because this is such an insane thing to ask them to do. And she certainly wouldn’t be getting through this without them.
The wait for the drug to kick in is agonizing in its own way, despite how short it is. There’s no reining in the rapid pounding of her heart in her chest, or stemming the fearful tide that’s spurring it into action. But it does eventually take hold, a feeling like a limb falling asleep that begins to push away the edges of that burning ache emanating from her wrist. It feels odd, empty almost, compared to everything that’s happened over the last dozen or so minutes.
This doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel real, and she doesn’t know how she’s managing to push herself to lay down. To outstretch that partially-mangled left arm out beside her. Her good hand reaches up to her face as she takes in a slow, shaky breath. Oh. She’s actually started crying, hasn’t she.]
I’m— I’m ready. [A breath.] Someone might need to hold me down. To be safe.
[She doesn’t think she’ll flinch, but. After? She doesn’t know how well a local anesthetic will hold up against… this. So she bites down on that folded bundle of cloth as Sigewinne had instructed, and scrambles to hold onto something with her free (and soon to be only) hand—whether it’s the kindly offered hand of another—sorry for the inevitable bruising, if so—or just a crumpled fistful of the soggy fabric of her shirt.
Suzuha, like every member of the resistance back home, knew that capture and torture could be a distinct possibility during the course of their fight. This is a little like self-torture, isn’t it? What had she always been told? To focus on something good, over and over.
So she thinks of early morning bike rides through Akihabara streets, strawberry cakes from a cute little bakery, and the first—and only—hug from her dad she can remember. And tries to let everything else fade out around her.]
no subject
I owe you one. [Her gaze shifts between each of them.] All of you.
[Because this is such an insane thing to ask them to do. And she certainly wouldn’t be getting through this without them.
The wait for the drug to kick in is agonizing in its own way, despite how short it is. There’s no reining in the rapid pounding of her heart in her chest, or stemming the fearful tide that’s spurring it into action. But it does eventually take hold, a feeling like a limb falling asleep that begins to push away the edges of that burning ache emanating from her wrist. It feels odd, empty almost, compared to everything that’s happened over the last dozen or so minutes.
This doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel real, and she doesn’t know how she’s managing to push herself to lay down. To outstretch that partially-mangled left arm out beside her. Her good hand reaches up to her face as she takes in a slow, shaky breath. Oh. She’s actually started crying, hasn’t she.]
I’m— I’m ready. [A breath.] Someone might need to hold me down. To be safe.
[She doesn’t think she’ll flinch, but. After? She doesn’t know how well a local anesthetic will hold up against… this. So she bites down on that folded bundle of cloth as Sigewinne had instructed, and scrambles to hold onto something with her free (and soon to be only) hand—whether it’s the kindly offered hand of another—sorry for the inevitable bruising, if so—or just a crumpled fistful of the soggy fabric of her shirt.
Suzuha, like every member of the resistance back home, knew that capture and torture could be a distinct possibility during the course of their fight. This is a little like self-torture, isn’t it? What had she always been told? To focus on something good, over and over.
So she thinks of early morning bike rides through Akihabara streets, strawberry cakes from a cute little bakery, and the first—and only—hug from her dad she can remember. And tries to let everything else fade out around her.]