Hama Sun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
devilsun) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
meadowlarklogs2020-03-30 09:35 pm
devilsun) wrote in meadowlarklogs2020-03-30 09:35 pm
(open)
WHO: Hama Sun
WHERE: Safehouse
WHEN: Mid-March
WHAT: Catchall
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Potentially discussions of cult stuff, including loss of autonomy and brainwashing.
Safehouse
[ The safehouse isn't that bad, Hama's decided. It's crowded, sure, and there isn't a whole lot of privacy, but she's got a whole bed to herself and plenty of hot water to wash her hair. And there's food, lots of food, all the food she could ever want in the world. It's pretty good in the safehouse, on balance, and it's totally cool she hasn't left in two weeks. For sure.
It's just. New Amsterdam is so loud and sometimes Hama feels like the sidewalk is going to start cracking around her and really, the whole kidnapping thing wasn't so good. So she'd rather just. Avoid that part. So far as she can tell, nobody's gotten kidnapped straight out of the safehouse.
So really, that's just common sense.
She can be found wandering around at all hours writing digital notes, trying to bother anyone and everyone when they come for breakfast - first by offering them tea and then, when they're distracted, pouncing with the questions - and in the wee hours of the morning, practicing with a switchblade.
She's definitely not going stir crazy. Why would you ever think that? ]
Dream
[ There is a cave carved into a mountain, a fire burning at the entrance, and a much younger Hama crouched down and staring out at the rain. In this place, and this time, she's around ten years old. The rain is coming down so hard it's impossible to see more than ten feet beyond the cave. Thunder booms in the distance and Hama flinches.
She's holding a knife, but she doesn't know how to do anything else except hold it and wait, turning it over and over again in her hands. All nervous energy. ]
They're going to come back.
[ She glances up, still clutching the knife. She's dressed in ratty clothes, a too-big coat secured to her with a length of rope for a belt, and her hair is wild, curls flying in every direction. She's alone. There are three packs by her side and a careful observer might notice a dark pattern splattered across the wall behind her, the distinctive pattern of arterial blood, but there are no adults to be found. Not for miles. ]
Mama promised.
WHERE: Safehouse
WHEN: Mid-March
WHAT: Catchall
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Potentially discussions of cult stuff, including loss of autonomy and brainwashing.
Safehouse
[ The safehouse isn't that bad, Hama's decided. It's crowded, sure, and there isn't a whole lot of privacy, but she's got a whole bed to herself and plenty of hot water to wash her hair. And there's food, lots of food, all the food she could ever want in the world. It's pretty good in the safehouse, on balance, and it's totally cool she hasn't left in two weeks. For sure.
It's just. New Amsterdam is so loud and sometimes Hama feels like the sidewalk is going to start cracking around her and really, the whole kidnapping thing wasn't so good. So she'd rather just. Avoid that part. So far as she can tell, nobody's gotten kidnapped straight out of the safehouse.
So really, that's just common sense.
She can be found wandering around at all hours writing digital notes, trying to bother anyone and everyone when they come for breakfast - first by offering them tea and then, when they're distracted, pouncing with the questions - and in the wee hours of the morning, practicing with a switchblade.
She's definitely not going stir crazy. Why would you ever think that? ]
Dream
[ There is a cave carved into a mountain, a fire burning at the entrance, and a much younger Hama crouched down and staring out at the rain. In this place, and this time, she's around ten years old. The rain is coming down so hard it's impossible to see more than ten feet beyond the cave. Thunder booms in the distance and Hama flinches.
She's holding a knife, but she doesn't know how to do anything else except hold it and wait, turning it over and over again in her hands. All nervous energy. ]
They're going to come back.
[ She glances up, still clutching the knife. She's dressed in ratty clothes, a too-big coat secured to her with a length of rope for a belt, and her hair is wild, curls flying in every direction. She's alone. There are three packs by her side and a careful observer might notice a dark pattern splattered across the wall behind her, the distinctive pattern of arterial blood, but there are no adults to be found. Not for miles. ]
Mama promised.
no subject
[ there were long periods of his life where his house was just... a cave like this, or blankets under the stars. people can live anywhere. ]
[ she regards him with suspicion, which isn't very surprising. ]
Is that something you want too? These new friends?