25 Unicorn Street, Wednesday Morning
Jun. 4th, 2008 11:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
on_her_korhalKerrigan sat. Propped up in her corner. Silent. Quiet. The whole shebang as always. Lasting on and on and on with nothing but interference like a bad TV-set--
She became aware, dimly, that the interference wasn't alone. Some device in the corner was making noise, and with every beat of her heart, it became more offensive, louder, so solidly there she could...
...Crawl over towards the transmitter and hit the button, listening.
Her fingers tightened on her scalp. She hadn't realised they'd even been there. For a minute, she could just pull back enough of the armor that it seemed as if the tentacles between her fingers weren't anything of the sort at all-- it was hair, thick and red, strands upon strands. The image of what Jimmy must've been thinking-- herself, sitting in a garden, smiling like some kind of dumbass.
The image wouldn't solidify. Her hair toughened.
With a loud yell, she smashed the transmitter into the wall, and left it there to rot.
"Goddammit."
[ open for one, please ]
She became aware, dimly, that the interference wasn't alone. Some device in the corner was making noise, and with every beat of her heart, it became more offensive, louder, so solidly there she could...
...Crawl over towards the transmitter and hit the button, listening.
| The man's voice was familiar. Very familiar. "Hey, darlin'," Jim Raynor spoke, and his voice managed to communicate a soft, if worried smile. | |
| She rubbed her temple. "You checking in on me now, Jimmy? Making sure I haven't run off and cut somebody's throat yet?" | |
| A pause. "Of course not," he replied, his voice full of consternation. "I just wanted to know if you were doin' alright." | |
| "Don't think you can get me a cup of coffee over the wireless, Jim," she said. The tired quality of her own voice surprised her. "It's taken you a while." | |
| "Yeah, well, not everyone can bust balls like you do, sweetheart," he replied. She could hear him shifting in his seat. "It's taken us a while to get the apparatus working." | |
| Because that didn't make her feel like crap for the attitude. Or should've made her feel like crap. It wasn't quite coming. "What, missing out on any good engineers?" | |
| There was a silence. "Most of my crew got slaughtered in a Zerg attack last week," Jim said, finally, "It's been a little hard to come by. The Protoss ain't helpin'." | |
| The Protoss. She rested her forehead to the wall. "Christ, Jimmy. I didn't know." | |
| "You got your own problems." A rasped breath. "I'm still dreamin' about you. God knows why." | |
| She snorted. "Big bad monster of your nightmares, huh?" | |
| "...No, never gonna be." A sigh, this time. She was positive it was a sigh. "Keep seein' you like you shoulda been. Happy. Smilin'. Messin' around in our garden while tryin' not to ruin your nailpolish--" | |
| "Your dreams are deluded," she replied, gently banging her head off the wall. | |
| A pause on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry, darlin'. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." | |
| "I don't wear nailpolish. Never have." Pause. "And I better have been wearing pants." | |
| "Yeah. Yeah, you were wearing pants." | |
| "Good." And now what would she say? She stared at the wall. | |
| "...Anyway, Mike's been campaigning pretty hard on your behalf," he continued, awkwardly, "Your story's all over the underground. Don't you worry. We'll get the bastard." | |
| And now her eyes were closed. "Not if I get there first." | |
| "Yeah." Some noise. "...Listen, we got some trouble down the line, but I'mma call you back, alright?" More noise. "Sarah. Seriously. It'll be--" Crackle. And gone. |
Her fingers tightened on her scalp. She hadn't realised they'd even been there. For a minute, she could just pull back enough of the armor that it seemed as if the tentacles between her fingers weren't anything of the sort at all-- it was hair, thick and red, strands upon strands. The image of what Jimmy must've been thinking-- herself, sitting in a garden, smiling like some kind of dumbass.
The image wouldn't solidify. Her hair toughened.
With a loud yell, she smashed the transmitter into the wall, and left it there to rot.
"Goddammit."
[ open for one, please ]
