[ the girls aren't happy to lose their comfortable spot, and even less happy to see daisy stand, but they don't argue. perhaps in between the two adults arguing every five minutes, there isn't room for little girls to argue too.
please, he says, and daisy almost hesitates. almost. but this isn't a party where she can linger on the sidelines, or a mission where she can just bail out the window when things get to be too much. this is real life, real danger; the longer that drone lingers in the alleyway, the more risk the situation poses not only to themselves and the children, but to everyone waiting in every safehouse around the city.
they know too much now. she has to do this. she appreciates the attempt at empathy, but his pleas don't contradict the facts. ]
I'm sorry. I really am. [ about ignoring your wishes. about hurting your feelings. about lying to you. about all of it. ] But I have to do this. And you have to keep them safe.
[ illya is tall, and probably packs a hundred pounds on her, but daisy is determined. and fast, as it turns out; a quick duck and she's under his reaching arm, a hand wrapping quickly around the door in order to pull it open and then shove it shut behind her. though he can't see her, she turns around for just a moment. just long enough to mouth i'm sorry before walking back in the direction of the street.
she expects to find the drone lingering nearby, scanning the windows and doors of the building front for signs of entry, forced or otherwise. accessing the feed is easy, though changing the flight patterns admittedly a little more difficult. it takes up her concentration; she's surprised to look up and find a pair of una soldiers investigating the intrusion, weapons at hand. the surprise is all they need. they move in unison, one flanking her from behind, strong hands reaching to grab her wrists and pull them behind her back; the other stepping in front, too close for comfort.
at first, she tries to quake them. it's instinct, self-preservation at its most simplistic form; she's rewarded for the attempt with the same dull ache in her chest and the softest hint of a blue glow under her black shirt. the soldiers don't miss a beat. this time, they strike her in the stomach. the butt of the rifle goes hard, and daisy doubles over, a sharp, shrill cry of pain echoing in the empty street. she tries to break down the gun, focusing her attention on breaking it apart, but as the first one falls to pieces in the street, another finds its way into place from a holster on their back. for her cheek, they hit harder.
please, she cries, but they keep going. an attempt to show their superiority, to frighten her into submission, to force her to comply — but daisy just screams, and they keep hitting, until she's a ball crumbled on the ground, vision blurry from a black eye that's surely going to bloom overnight, body aching in every limb until unconsciousness sounds like a blessing. and then, just as quickly as it had started, it stops. apparently satisfied with her pain, or perhaps distracted by a sound in the distance, the soldiers turn — in unison again, they move south, away from daisy (and perhaps more importantly, away from the safehouse), leaving her alone to enjoy her new-found injuries.
no subject
please, he says, and daisy almost hesitates. almost. but this isn't a party where she can linger on the sidelines, or a mission where she can just bail out the window when things get to be too much. this is real life, real danger; the longer that drone lingers in the alleyway, the more risk the situation poses not only to themselves and the children, but to everyone waiting in every safehouse around the city.
they know too much now. she has to do this. she appreciates the attempt at empathy, but his pleas don't contradict the facts. ]
I'm sorry. I really am. [ about ignoring your wishes. about hurting your feelings. about lying to you. about all of it. ] But I have to do this. And you have to keep them safe.
[ illya is tall, and probably packs a hundred pounds on her, but daisy is determined. and fast, as it turns out; a quick duck and she's under his reaching arm, a hand wrapping quickly around the door in order to pull it open and then shove it shut behind her. though he can't see her, she turns around for just a moment. just long enough to mouth i'm sorry before walking back in the direction of the street.
she expects to find the drone lingering nearby, scanning the windows and doors of the building front for signs of entry, forced or otherwise. accessing the feed is easy, though changing the flight patterns admittedly a little more difficult. it takes up her concentration; she's surprised to look up and find a pair of una soldiers investigating the intrusion, weapons at hand. the surprise is all they need. they move in unison, one flanking her from behind, strong hands reaching to grab her wrists and pull them behind her back; the other stepping in front, too close for comfort.
at first, she tries to quake them. it's instinct, self-preservation at its most simplistic form; she's rewarded for the attempt with the same dull ache in her chest and the softest hint of a blue glow under her black shirt. the soldiers don't miss a beat. this time, they strike her in the stomach. the butt of the rifle goes hard, and daisy doubles over, a sharp, shrill cry of pain echoing in the empty street. she tries to break down the gun, focusing her attention on breaking it apart, but as the first one falls to pieces in the street, another finds its way into place from a holster on their back. for her cheek, they hit harder.
please, she cries, but they keep going. an attempt to show their superiority, to frighten her into submission, to force her to comply — but daisy just screams, and they keep hitting, until she's a ball crumbled on the ground, vision blurry from a black eye that's surely going to bloom overnight, body aching in every limb until unconsciousness sounds like a blessing. and then, just as quickly as it had started, it stops. apparently satisfied with her pain, or perhaps distracted by a sound in the distance, the soldiers turn — in unison again, they move south, away from daisy (and perhaps more importantly, away from the safehouse), leaving her alone to enjoy her new-found injuries.
or lay there and cry, whichever. ]