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Marks/Tattoos
Oct. 13th, 2021 08:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bluefaerieShe stares at the ceiling of the cabin that Cade had slept in. Her bed nest is comfy, if a little haphazard, and she refuses to use the bed itself. Not right now. Not for a good while.
She looks at the embedded data sticks that litter the ceiling tile directly above her. Benji had at least provided her with defunct ones for her emotional outbursts - he claimed it was because he refused to lose any more valuable tax returns but she was pretty sure he was looking after her in the only way he could.
I love you like a sister, but I don't want any red, green, blue, pink or yellow plasma anywhere near me.
That stung a little, at the time. She lifts her right hand and looks at the mark on her arm. It sits there, brooding at her. Reminding her that she has no real control over her life, no matter what Lancaster says. She checks her watch. It's too damn early to get up properly and she knows she can't sleep alone right now.
Getting up, the mark is hidden by her long sleeves. As she walks through the ship, looking for the safe space that is Benedict's presence, she remembers the faces of the people she protected over the crazy weekend on Cerise II. She remembers their reactions to her mark - to the mark on Mercutio's forehead.
Are you like him?
No. She isn't. They're the same kind of thing, the same kind of being, but he does things she can't do and she does things he's got no abilities for. Same with Ty. But in their fractured similarities, they are at least family.
She is in luck. Benedict is sleeping - one of the rare occasions their sleep patterns match up. She crawls into the space next to him, feels his arm go round her and leans her face onto his chest. She's safe for the moment. She sleeps.
She looks at the embedded data sticks that litter the ceiling tile directly above her. Benji had at least provided her with defunct ones for her emotional outbursts - he claimed it was because he refused to lose any more valuable tax returns but she was pretty sure he was looking after her in the only way he could.
I love you like a sister, but I don't want any red, green, blue, pink or yellow plasma anywhere near me.
That stung a little, at the time. She lifts her right hand and looks at the mark on her arm. It sits there, brooding at her. Reminding her that she has no real control over her life, no matter what Lancaster says. She checks her watch. It's too damn early to get up properly and she knows she can't sleep alone right now.
Getting up, the mark is hidden by her long sleeves. As she walks through the ship, looking for the safe space that is Benedict's presence, she remembers the faces of the people she protected over the crazy weekend on Cerise II. She remembers their reactions to her mark - to the mark on Mercutio's forehead.
Are you like him?
No. She isn't. They're the same kind of thing, the same kind of being, but he does things she can't do and she does things he's got no abilities for. Same with Ty. But in their fractured similarities, they are at least family.
She is in luck. Benedict is sleeping - one of the rare occasions their sleep patterns match up. She crawls into the space next to him, feels his arm go round her and leans her face onto his chest. She's safe for the moment. She sleeps.
