Eyes of a Tragedy

The wedding was done with, and she was home. Or at least in that place that she'd been living in for almost a year now, where the bed and the nooks and the crannies had shaped themselves to her curves and the fridge ran over with ice cream.

When she opened the door, the first thing Kerrigan noticed was the static. The ordinary kind, the kind that hadn't been blaring in her mind since she was taken from Char: it was the transmitter.

She raced to get there, sitting down and slamming her first into the machine until it cleared up. "Jimmy?"

( Another phone call. )

[ establishy, plz. ]

She woke up alone. Her wings wrapped around her like they were arms, her hair rigid tentacles all around her-- like lying in a swamp. The noise was unbearable, screaming her awake; old memories returned, smashing against her mind like a battering ram.

Her head was chaos.

She didn't scream. She didn't cry. Sarah Kerrigan just woke up and stared long and hard at the wall opposite her, and waited.

That was all you had in a nightmare.

[ establishy ]

She'd been staring impassively at her transmitter all day. It had been dead since Jimmy's last communique, like she'd been forgotten. Weeks and weeks and weeks, and all Kerrigan had gotten was-- what, again?

Being forgotten.

The rage hadn't gone away yet: with every visit, she put on a smile, lifted her arm like a human being, gave honest answers and blinked just often enough for anyone to take her for human.

She was starting to want to scream, but that would probably break a wall. And so Sarah Kerrigan sat, just sat, perched on the floor, her wings open and her eyes set on the transmitter.

[ open to any visitors, whee ]

The news about the store hadn't concerned her much. Part of her felt like she probably should've reacted more-- but it seemed frivolous, somehow. Unimportant.

The smoke, though. The smoke was something else.

Early in the morning, Kerrigan had made it out the door only to stand, transfixed, watching it billow. Then something in her had compelled her to flee back inside; and that was were she was, leaning up against the front door with her eyes closed, trying not to think about volcanoes, lava streams, and a planet called Char.

It wasn't really working, and the buzzing voices in her mind were getting louder. She banged her head softly off the door and willed herself to stop being so...

Whatever it was.

[ open, if anyone has any reason to come by ]

She'd almost gotten the hang of it. Seated in the middle of the room-- couch long since shoved aside due to practical reasons-- Kerrigan watched the bone armor shift, retract, shape itself according to her will.

She could almost look human. Almost. Just-- the colours were off.

And then there were all the million things that seemed to be shifting under the surface. The shape of her hand vanished, rendered invisible. Like the cloak, except...

Without.

She was distantly aware she hadn't actually moved in at least a day, but she brushed the thought aside.

[ open for any visitors ]

She was looking a little lost in the middle of the empty hallway, the place she'd emptied some fifteen billion years ago. Kerrigan would've wrapped her arms around herself, but with the current state of--

She just didn't feel like it. She took a sharp breath, shot a look at the kitchen. Would her biology still allow for the usual? Or...

She stared warily at the edges of a wing. Crap. Crap.

[ open for one, plz ]

She woke up that morning with the buzzing of no minds in her head and a cat on her face. "Seriously," Kerrigan told Mustang, blinking a little, "You've got issues." She rubbed at her eye, once, palm-first, then reached over in a desperate attempt to shut off the damn record player.

It was getting the hell on her nerves, as much as the loud clattering noise of the bottles as they fell to the floor. "Fuck," she muttered, under her breath, then slipped out of bed, padded into the living room, and opted to do the morning exercise before coffee.

It wasn't going to do wonders for her mood. She just felt like bruising something.

[ open with weetiny OCD-- easy-A getters (or other visitors) in the first thread! ]

The house was steadily becoming emptier. It hadn't been very full to begin with, but as she slowly pawned off, packed, or otherwise removed the few belongings that had been around, it was...

It seemed to be getting bigger.

Now, Kerrigan sat quietly on the couch, Mustang-the-kitten making a home of her lap, and stared at the wall.

[ open to five ]

Some part of her was still twitching after... the day. Kerrigan had a couple of options, really, and most of them involved staying here, on the forlorn couch, trying not to...

She picked up the phone. She dialed the number. "You owe me a drink," she said.

It wasn't much later that Kerrigan was hauling ass out of her house, across the causeway, meeting her companion halfway, and onto the mainland.

It wasn't even that much further down the line that she practically kicked in the door to the bar and demanded a beer. Sometimes, life just seemed to speed up on you.

[ for a someone who got phoned and came with; nfb except that she called someone about a drink and then left the island ]

It was a better morning, this time around. Which was something she had to remind herself of. A lot. No headaches, for one-- and yet there was a wariness to Kerrigan's quiet stalk through the house, balancing a large bowl of cereal on one hand. The scowl on her face was worthy of a thunder storm.

She sat down on the couch, gently-- lowering the bowl onto the table. It hit the wooden surface with a quiet thunk, and the milk knocked, somewhat dangerously, against the edge. With a wary glance at the figure resting across from her, she took the spoon and attacked, with full intent to shovel. But it wasn't-- quite-- her face held still above the spoon, still full of milk, and her eyes flicked back up.

Slowly, she lifted the spoon to her mouth again. "No," she bubbled into the milk, and swallowed it. "You're not going to put me off my breakfast." The next spoonful came up with a little more care. Because she was going to need to be very, very careful about this.

And yet... She couldn't stop looking at it.

Oh. Fuck it.

Something in her face twitched. She dropped the spoon. "Fine," she said, "Fine. You have it."

The kitten mewed at her, spilling milk everywhere as he dove into her lap. He rubbed his soaked little head against her stomach. She dropped both arms by her sides, groaning.

"I hate you, Mustang."

[ mostly because i kind of had to, but open to whoever would want to come by ]