[ The sight that greets her upon waking is too reminiscent of a cryopod — stifling, claustrophobic, searing for the lights that blind her as she comes to. Some part of her — the part that has yet to hardwire itself to an existence here, that hasn't left the past behind but dragged it with her instead — almost anticipates Niylah, hovering. Friendly. The only person that had accepted her without disgust when she'd slipped from cryosleep.
But her stirring, this time, is decidedly more violent. Her lungs wrack her ribs, drawing in a gasping breath, before her palm strikes its encasing — shoving it back and away with all of the urgency of a drowning person that has broken the surface, ignoring the swimming vertigo in her head when she rights herself too quickly.
Her shirt still clings to her, sodden with dried blood, chewed apart and sticking to her uncomfortably. The gash along her spine has healed, but the white impression of a scar suggests what had once been there, disappeared by the miracle of technology Octavia can barely grasp the concept of. The pain is more present, most of all — a soreness that radiates, intent to remind her of what she's done.
And the woman that had dragged her here, waited for her. Octavia only realizes it too late, head swiveling in the direction of a finger swiping along a screen. Too quick. Her vision blurs, but she can make out the starkness of silver, the smallness of the figure in its seat. ]
Where —
[ The sentence never completes itself, a rasp out of her throat from disuse and mild dehydration. ]
it's perf
But her stirring, this time, is decidedly more violent. Her lungs wrack her ribs, drawing in a gasping breath, before her palm strikes its encasing — shoving it back and away with all of the urgency of a drowning person that has broken the surface, ignoring the swimming vertigo in her head when she rights herself too quickly.
Her shirt still clings to her, sodden with dried blood, chewed apart and sticking to her uncomfortably. The gash along her spine has healed, but the white impression of a scar suggests what had once been there, disappeared by the miracle of technology Octavia can barely grasp the concept of. The pain is more present, most of all — a soreness that radiates, intent to remind her of what she's done.
And the woman that had dragged her here, waited for her. Octavia only realizes it too late, head swiveling in the direction of a finger swiping along a screen. Too quick. Her vision blurs, but she can make out the starkness of silver, the smallness of the figure in its seat. ]
Where —
[ The sentence never completes itself, a rasp out of her throat from disuse and mild dehydration. ]