[Those warm threads of feeling cut through the deep, still pond of his quiet mind. It's the first substantial sensation he's felt in what must be hours. Days, months, years: time has melted into an inconstant continuum. Peggy's fingers may as well be fire on his cheek, a searing discomfort that separates the dream-like peace of rightness and serenity from the state of being in a physical body that has needs, that experiences pains, wants, forever buffeted by reality's harsh existence.
Finally, lashes flicker open and his eyes stare straight up at the open sky. The pale pink sky of Mars with a glaring sun too bright and alien to be native. What filters through the bond on his end is calm, quiet tranquility — as awareness returns to the dark color of his eyes, that peace transforms into frightened uncertainty, the swift and sudden return to the self, and then escalates to an all-consuming dread.
Cain pulls himself out of the bond, an unsteady twist that sends him rolling to one side of the hull and nearly over the lip. His hands grasp for a hold on the ship's metal plating, but he only gathers blue flowers in his hands instead. Fisted, tattered palmfuls of fragile petals.]
No. No. You shouldn't be here.
[Separated physically, he finds himself relaxing again into that vague faraway sense of peace, a glassy quality to black irises. Cain turns his head away from Peggy and Sora, sightless to both. But it's harder this time, like he's grasping at quicksand. Confusion begins to root itself deeper instead. There's nothing to tether himself to.]
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Finally, lashes flicker open and his eyes stare straight up at the open sky. The pale pink sky of Mars with a glaring sun too bright and alien to be native. What filters through the bond on his end is calm, quiet tranquility — as awareness returns to the dark color of his eyes, that peace transforms into frightened uncertainty, the swift and sudden return to the self, and then escalates to an all-consuming dread.
Cain pulls himself out of the bond, an unsteady twist that sends him rolling to one side of the hull and nearly over the lip. His hands grasp for a hold on the ship's metal plating, but he only gathers blue flowers in his hands instead. Fisted, tattered palmfuls of fragile petals.]
No. No. You shouldn't be here.
[Separated physically, he finds himself relaxing again into that vague faraway sense of peace, a glassy quality to black irises. Cain turns his head away from Peggy and Sora, sightless to both. But it's harder this time, like he's grasping at quicksand. Confusion begins to root itself deeper instead. There's nothing to tether himself to.]
What's... going on?