(no subject)
Oct. 18th, 2016 12:14 am[ lara croft sure does remember dying.
what's more painful that the actual memory of her own climbing axe cutting through her skull repeatedly is the image of luke's face; the sympathy and pain... nothing short of agony could describe it. he hadn't wanted that, and what lara feels upon waking up in her bed (somehow, she knows it's her's, and she hates that, the sticky, slimy sensation of understanding something sinister), more than anything, is fury.
fury because luke castellan should not have looked down at her with regret. he should have been bearing down at her with determination, a hardened resolve to survive. she would have accepted that. perhaps, if luke had given her that, lara would even be content to lay in bed for a while and sink further into her depression and bitterness. but no, a nineteen year old boy looks down at her with apologies in his eyes and she has to get to the bottom of the situation. there isn't, she supposes, much else to do here.
but luke is not an easy person to find, and perhaps that's her own fault. storming through the streets of the neighborhood, lara shouts his name and calls for him desperately. if he answers, she isn't sure, because she hears nothing. that's fair, she thinks. she would keep to herself, too, for a while. she waits a bit; she's tired, somehow. an hour later lara takes a different approach and begins climbing the trees and looking for weak spots in the houses, poking her head quietly through each room before moving onto the next house. at worse, she'll find diva, and with the both of them dead, that's really not something she gives a damn about anymore.
this next house does not look any different from the rest, she thinks, but something feels a bit lived in about it. that's why she picks it out. there's a tree that isn't quite perfect for climbing but she makes due, crawling through leaves and leaping across to a window's ledge. slipping her fingers underneath, she pulls her head up with a grunt, and lara sees that she's lucked out this time.
she's still hanging on when she speaks, and though she stumbles a bit, her ancient greek isn't too bad. ]
I'm not your enemy, Luke.
what's more painful that the actual memory of her own climbing axe cutting through her skull repeatedly is the image of luke's face; the sympathy and pain... nothing short of agony could describe it. he hadn't wanted that, and what lara feels upon waking up in her bed (somehow, she knows it's her's, and she hates that, the sticky, slimy sensation of understanding something sinister), more than anything, is fury.
fury because luke castellan should not have looked down at her with regret. he should have been bearing down at her with determination, a hardened resolve to survive. she would have accepted that. perhaps, if luke had given her that, lara would even be content to lay in bed for a while and sink further into her depression and bitterness. but no, a nineteen year old boy looks down at her with apologies in his eyes and she has to get to the bottom of the situation. there isn't, she supposes, much else to do here.
but luke is not an easy person to find, and perhaps that's her own fault. storming through the streets of the neighborhood, lara shouts his name and calls for him desperately. if he answers, she isn't sure, because she hears nothing. that's fair, she thinks. she would keep to herself, too, for a while. she waits a bit; she's tired, somehow. an hour later lara takes a different approach and begins climbing the trees and looking for weak spots in the houses, poking her head quietly through each room before moving onto the next house. at worse, she'll find diva, and with the both of them dead, that's really not something she gives a damn about anymore.
this next house does not look any different from the rest, she thinks, but something feels a bit lived in about it. that's why she picks it out. there's a tree that isn't quite perfect for climbing but she makes due, crawling through leaves and leaping across to a window's ledge. slipping her fingers underneath, she pulls her head up with a grunt, and lara sees that she's lucked out this time.
she's still hanging on when she speaks, and though she stumbles a bit, her ancient greek isn't too bad. ]
I'm not your enemy, Luke.