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Post by starrea on Aug 3, 2020 17:56:52 GMT
"Freya, wake up," Desmond whispered and reached out to softly shake Freya awake. Desmond didn't wait to see if Freya awoke, already pulling away to hurry back towards the door. The room was nearly pitch black but Desmond moved around with confidence; the room had barely changed since Freya had moved in and with hardly any furniture, he could easily navigate the room without the need of sight. He froze next to the door, stilling his breathing as he paused to listen for anything that disturbed the nighttime stillness and seemed to relax ever so slightly when he heard nothing. They were safe for now, but Desmond knew that they didn't have the luxury of time; they needed to get moving.
"Freya, honey, you need to get up," Desmond whispered again, leaning against the door as he waited for Freya to obey him: he knew she would. He felt around for the bags that he had dropped by the door and picked it up, slinging one of them over his shoulder and holding the other. The one he carried was significantly heavier than the other, packed to the brim with all the supplies he could fit. His pack had a blanket, some spare clothes, and medical supplies and the lighter pack - the one Freya would carry - was packed with food and water. He had left a bit of space for her to pack anything small she wanted to bring with her, but Desmond already knew that she had hardly any personal possessions. But he didn't want to take the choice away from her, so he sacrificed some space to dedicate to her. He felt bad about making her carry a pack, especially with how frail she was looking these days, but he had no other choice. They needed the supplies if they wanted to survive.
Desmond knew how dangerous fleeing with Freya was - it hadn't been a decision he had come to lightly. But they hadn't left him any choices and no matter how much he argued their decision to put Freya down, the vote had been unanimous. Even though Freya had been labeled as a success, the experiment was finished and they planned to reassign Desmond somewhere else. Without Desmond, the only option was to put Freya down. Even worse, they wanted him to hand feed her the poison. That had been three days ago, but he had come to the decision to run rather quickly. He knew that in the end, he wouldn't be able to do it - he wouldn't do it. Yesterday, they had given him the vial of poison. He hadn't asked what it was, he didn't want to know. They assured him her death would be quick and painless.
There were a million other reasons as to why this was a bad idea. Freya was dangerous and he was bringing her back out into the world, and even worse, he only had a couple more days of the sedative that kept her abilities subdued. After four days, she would have to resist her curse all on her own. But Desmond had complete confidence in Freya, he knew that she was strong enough to resist her curse - and if she didn't, he had the vial of poison.
"Freya, you need to listen to me very carefully. We are going to go on a trip, but you need to be very quiet. Gather up anything you want to bring with you." He instructed, looking in her direction even though it was so dark he couldn't see her. "This is very important and you need to do exactly as I say, okay?" He added urgently, stressing his words so that Freya knew just how important her obedience was. If they messed up, Freya wouldn't be the only one who perished.
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Post by Val on Aug 6, 2020 3:17:54 GMT
For once, Freya was fast asleep.
She was in the woods again; only this time, she wasn't afraid. In fact, she felt strangely aware of her actions in her dream state, as if she was in total control of what came next. The feeling was oddly familiar and it was possible that she was building up a tolerance to the drugs that she'd been fed for so long. Even her frail body was growing strong enough to overcome the sedatives, and Freya's dream were becoming clearer by the day.
Freya's bare feet tread lightly across the forest floor while the damp, early morning fog shrouded her in a distinctly unnatural manner. The moment felt incredibly real, however, right down to the fact that she was still wearing the clothing she'd fallen asleep in. She could see, smell, touch everything- and hear the voices that were calling to her. Freya wasn't sure what- or who- they were, but some of the entities were so desperate to be seen that they would reveal themselves. They sometimes appeared as shadowy figures hidden amongst the trees, often staring at her, or yelling into the abyss. Other times, they looked like real flesh and bone people. And on the rarest of occasions, she caught a glimpse of what felt like memories: moments so intense and meaningful that they hung in a state of purgatory, ingrained in the very fabric of consciousness that connected them all.
One stood out to her in particular: a man snapping the neck of another with calculated twist of his hands. A young woman watched, appearing almost satisfied from the violent act. Freya watched the limp body drop to the floor and then the scene repeated itself, beckoning her to take a closer look.
A noise startled Freya before she had a chance to explore, but she couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from amidst the shadows that surrounded her. She turned suddenly and was met with a startling sight- someone hurrying toward her, alarmingly close now. The figure's face was a blank slate until Desmond's voice suddenly registered in her mind and his face appeared in her dream, filing the void of the spectral stranger, "Freya, wake up."
Freya gasped and her eyes snapped open. She reached out into the darkness for Desmond, but her hands met nothing but empty space. Panting quietly, she sat up and tried to locate him in the pitch black room. Had he been a figment of her nightmare? Was he in trouble? A noise sounded near the door and Desmond spoke again, casting a blanket of relief over Freya. He was okay...but something was wrong.
Inching her way to the edge of the bed, Freya listened carefully to his instructions while a sense of foreboding nagged at her. This break in her routine was not welcome and it set her on edge as she sensed the distress radiating off of Desmond. She wanted to ask him what was going on, but found herself silently obeying instead. She trusted him and she knew him well enough to know that the situation was urgent. "Okay," she agreed quietly.
Feeling around in the dark, she slipped her feet into her boots and fumbled around with the laces until she was able to tie them up. She rose from the bed, but paused at the mention of gathering her belongings, realizing she truly didn't own anything. She'd never really been allowed to have personal possessions- what she owned was what they gave her. Except, even Freya had her own little secrets. With the knowledge that Desmond couldn't see her, she shuffled into a corner of the room and bent to pry one of the floor boards up, gaining access to a small compartment in the crawl space. She pulled out a bound stack of loose scraps of paper and fabric and quickly stuffed them into her jacket pockets without a word.
With nothing left holding her back in the room, she moved silently across the room to Desmond's side. She reached out to touch his arm with cold fingertips, as though confirming that he was actually there, "Are you okay?" she whispered, her concern for him evident. Usually, it was easy to subdue her own anxiety when she had Desmond there; he was her protector and she had blind faith that he would never let anything happen to her. But sensing the tension in the air around him, Freya worried that something big was happening.
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Post by starrea on Aug 6, 2020 22:02:04 GMT
Desmond knew that above all else, Freya was obedient. The break in routine was bound to make her anxious but he was pleased that she managed to refrain from asking any questions. He didn't relax as he heard her start to move about though, his attention locked onto any noises coming from outside the room. So far, there was nothing, but that didn't mean they weren't coming. Desmond knew firsthand how ruthless this clandestine shadow organization was and he wasn't about to make the mistake of underestimating them.
Desmond nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Freya's cold fingers brush across his side, "Son of a bitch Freya, you scared me," Desmond said gruffly, reaching out to securely interlock his fingers with hers. He pushed the lighter pack into her, "Here, you need to carry this. Come on, we need to go. Remember, you have to stay quiet and if I tell you to run, you have to run and you can't look back." Desmond instructed in a low voice before slowly turning the knob and pushing open the door. He hesitated for another second but the night air was calm and still. He still hadn't answered her question, or even acknowledged it, but he planned on explaining the situation to Freya once they were far enough away. Her question wasn't as important as getting out alive, so it could wait.
Finally, Desmond hurried down the hallway, pulling Freya along behind him. He knew that she was quite a bit shorter than him and tended to walk slower, but he didn't have time to accommodate her right now. His hand gripped hers tightly and she was forced to keep up with his brisk pace. He paused once again at their front door, listening for signs of life but when he heard none, he swung the door open and pulled her out. The walk to the front gate wasn't far, but he pulled her in the opposite direction. It would have been too hard to slip through the gate at this time of night completely unnoticed, so Desmond had to come up with another plan. He pulled Freya into the shadows cast by the boundary wall, hastily hurrying towards an exit he had never brought Freya out of. Technically, Desmond wasn't even supposed to know about this exit; he discovered it about a year ago on accident and had kept the secret to himself in case of an emergency like this one. As they drew nearer to the spot, Desmond slowed down until he was carefully shuffling his feet, stomping hard on the ground to listen for the sound of something hollow beneath. His foot finally struck it's mark and the unmistakable echo of something hollow could be heard. Desmond dropped Freya's hand for a second to bend down and grab the handle of the trap door, yanking it up. He waved his hand, urgently rushing Freya down, "Come on, it lets up just on the other side of the fence. No more than 10 feet underground."
Desmond knew that the small, dark, enclosed space might be a trigger for Freya, but they really didn't have the luxury of time to work through it. He didn't give her more than a second before he was already reaching forward and grabbing her wrist, dragging her towards the hole and pushing her in. He followed right behind her, pulling the trap door shut behind them and immersing them in complete darkness. Desmond grabbed Freya's hand again and cautiously walked forward, using his hand to run along the damp wall of the tunnel to guide him. The tunnel was short and after about ten or so feet, Desmond nearly tripped on a ledge that signaled the end of the tunnel. He stood up on it, using the leverage to push the tunnel door open and pulled himself out. He immediately spun around, dropping to his knees and reached down for Freya.
"Come on, Freya, we're almost out," Desmond urged, trying as hard as he could to suppress the panic that was threatening to explode out of him. He couldn't lose control in front of Freya, not when both of their lives were now on the line.
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Post by Val on Aug 9, 2020 6:19:31 GMT
Freya had never witnessed Desmond show fear before that night. The emotion felt jarring coming from him and suddenly her entire world turned on its head. If he was afraid, then she was terrified. She hardly had a moment to register the gravity of the situation before a pack was dumped into her arms and she had to scramble to throw it over her shoulders before Desmond dragged her out of her safe place. The only thing she was aware of was the erratic beat of her heart as they drew closer to the front door, with no idea of what would be waiting for her on the other side. All she could do was put all of her trust into Desmond's hands- something she'd grown very accustomed to doing.
When the chilly night air hit her for the first time, her skin prickled with unease. The camp was quiet, but she knew how misleading silence could be. No matter the circumstances, Desmond didn't give her much time to dwell on it and she was struggling desperately to keep up with his frantic pace as he took an unfamiliar path through the compound. Once they were in the sanctity of the shadows and Desmond released her to seek out the trap door- she heard it. Voices.
Freya whipped around, staring wide eyed into the darkness. No one was there, but she swore she'd heard a whispered warning that caused the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. A few painfully slow seconds ticked by as she waited for something to materialize out of the shadows like in her dreams, but nothing came. Instead, Desmond grabbed her again, this time forcefully pushing her into the tunnel that he'd unearthed. Panic immediately set in as she stared into the pit and was forced to clamber down into the damp, confining space before she even had a chance to take a breath. She felt Desmond close in behind her and was already trembling violently, refusing to budge until he forced her onward once again.
Although they were logically only in the tunnel for a few short minutes, it felt endless for Freya. It seemed to be a reoccurring trauma for her; from bedrooms, to cells, to closets, to trunks- people had always found ways to confine her. While her room here had eventually become her sanctuary, it hadn't started out that way. Just like her relationship with Desmond hadn't started out this way, either.
They had only made it halfway through the tunnel when the whispers returned, this time multiplied. It sounded like they were following her, getting closer and closer until she swore she felt cold finger tips brush the back of her neck. They were coming for her again, grabbing at her, relentlessly forcing her to notice them. As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew that she wasn't dreaming this time, and she was suddenly desperate for another dose of her medicine.
Moonlight abruptly poured into the hole and Freya reached for Desmond's outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her out. However, as soon as she was above ground, she clawed at his hand and squirmed free before stumbling several yards away from the wall and dropping to her knees. She sucked in deep breaths of air, as though she had nearly suffocated in the short time they'd spent underground. She needed air, space, and a single damned moment to take in what was happening.
And just like that, the moment had come and gone, and she felt sick with guilt almost immediately. She scrambled back to her feet and looked up at Desmond, all doe eyed and apologetic, "I'm sorry," she whimpered. Freya knew had to have good reason for doing this, but she couldn't understand why he didn't prepare her. Unless...this was all a test.
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Post by starrea on Aug 10, 2020 19:45:47 GMT
The relief of making it outside of the perimeter fence of the compound was short-lived as Desmond watched Freya scramble away from him, choking on panic. He itched to rush after her and take her up in his arms and comfort her, but instead he granted her the space she so-clearly needed. The moment didn't last long and he let out a breath of relief when she apologized to him. He needed her to remain in control of herself and he tossed the idea of giving her another pill around, but he couldn't risk making her drowsy. They needed to put as much space as possible between them and the compound before they were discovered missing.
Desmond finally walked over to Freya, slowly taking her up in his arms. Even though they needed to get moving, Desmond allowed Freya the moment to gather herself. He had planned on waiting until later to tell her what was going on, but maybe if she knew their circumstances, it would motivate her. He gently hummed as he hugged Freya, finding the tension also slowly seeping out of him as well. Having her in his arms reminded him of exactly what was at stake; Freya's life - and that he needed to keep it together and do everything he could do to protect her from harm.
"I know you are," Desmond whispered, finally acknowledging her apology. He wanted to tell her it was okay, but it wasn't. If they wanted to make it far enough away to be safe, she needed to do better - and he knew she could. "You need to be stronger for me, though. I need you to be better. I know you can do it." Desmond urged softly, pausing to let her really think about his words.
"I am taking you away from here," Desmond finally said, still unsure if telling Freya about their situation was the right move or not, "They want to execute you. They want me to execute you." The revelation would undoubtedly be hard to hear and just thinking about it made Desmond sick with guilt and he held Freya tighter, as if scared that she might try and run from him. "But I won't do that, I won't let them hurt you. So I'm taking you away from here, okay? So please, you need to do everything I say because if they catch us, they'll kill us - both of us. And I won't be able to save you."
The fear of dying paled in comparison of Freya choosing to leave him and he held onto her for another minute or so before the urgency of their situation forced him to finally let her go and step back. He hadn't considered the option of Freya trying to leave him and he didn't know what he would do if she did. The very thought made him nausea and he had to force himself to focus on what they needed to do next to survive. He surveyed the surrounding land but everything was still and quiet. The night air was warm and muggy without even a breeze, but it hadn't rained now for over a week and the land was dry. Clouds shielded any moonlight from guiding them, immersing them in almost complete blackness. It mattered not; Desmond knew these woods and he didn't need light to know which direction he needed to travel in.
"Please Freya," Desmond held his hand out to her, giving her a real choice, "I can't lose you," He murmured, implying for the first time that her reliance on him wasn't as one-sided as she might of thought.
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Post by Val on Aug 11, 2020 3:34:57 GMT
Freya melted into the embrace, grateful that he had respected her boundaries long enough for her to catch her breath. Boundaries didn't normally exist between them, but she could tell that things were about to change in a big way for the both of them. She felt as if they were standing on the edge of a cliff, preparing to take a plunge into the unknown together. Except the cliff was Paragon's camp, and they'd already crossed the threshold to the other side.
As she allowed Desmond's words of encouragement to sink in, she nodded against his chest, and internally scolded herself for even questioning him. It wasn't until he uttered the word "execute" that her suspicions were reignited full force. The admission was jarring- not only because of the imminent danger it instilled, but also the fact that they had fully expected Desmond to carry out the deed. They had faith and trust that he would end her, while she was so hopelessly devoted to him that the mere possibility had never crossed her mind.
More than anything, she wanted to run. She wanted to separate herself from this pathetic excuse for a life and punish Desmond for waiting so long to save her. The forbidden, resentful thoughts made her feel sick to her stomach. Freya hadn't allowed independent thought to enter her consciousness in a very long time, but the mind shattering revelation and the possibility of freedom struck something loose inside of her, and she could feel long forgotten emotions bubbling to the surface.
Freya was rigid in Desmond arms until he finally stepped away, leaving her standing alone and shocked as the darkness pressed around them. She stared past him into the abyss, her eyes wide and unblinking as she tried to gather herself. Realistically, running was not an option. She didn't just need Desmond; she wanted to be with him, in more ways than one. Hearing him plead for her tugged on her heart strings and suddenly leaving him was no longer a possibility.
Fortunately, a lifetime of trauma had made her very good at compartmentalizing, and it only took her a few moments to force down the overwhelming emotions. They were in survival mode, and they needed to keep moving. Reaching out, she grabbed Desmond's outstretched hand and started walking, this time pulling him into motion. She said nothing- offered no words of understanding or consolation to make him feel better. In that moment, she had nothing to say to him. She just wanted him to take her away from this place and do what he promised- save her.
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Post by starrea on Aug 13, 2020 1:54:56 GMT
One look at Freya's expression shattered Desmond's heart. He had hoped that the revelation would have fortified her trust in him, but it had done the opposite. Her silence was as tortuous as knives that cut Desmond deep until he couldn't bear it anymore. "I... I want you to know that I only found out about this a couple days ago. The decision to run away with you wasn't hard. My job is to protect you, even if it's from my people." He hoped she could hear the resolution in his voice, but he didn't look over at her to see her reaction. He was used to Freya to having infinite trust in him and to see it cracked, even if only by the tiniest amount, threatened to send Desmond spiraling.
The silence was suffocating and Desmond needed to fill it was something - anything - to make Freya see him as the person he was to her yesterday. "I've always done what is best for you, please know that," Desmond pleaded, feeling guilt settle in the put of his stomach like a rock. There were so many other things that he wanted to say but none of them came out. Instead, Desmond let the unsettling silence fall between them again, focusing on moving forward. He needed to keep Freya safe, even if she hated him.
Without the stars, it was hard for Desmond to keep track of their direction but he didn't voice his concerns out loud. He didn't want to fracture any more of the trust between them and even if they made a few wrong turns, Desmond was determined to get Freya to safety. As for their destination... there was only ever one other handler and subject who successfully escaped. Both of them immediately went off of the grid - to the point that even Paragon lost track of them. But something had changed, and there were reports of a tall column of black smoke that wreaked havoc that suggested that they had emerged from hiding. Before they had left, Desmond had dug through all the notes about where the sightings were reported and the generalized location where they believed Destrian and the smoke girl to be hiding. Destroying the notes would have been too obvious, but Desmond made sure to alter them just enough that it wasn't overtly noticeable, but enough that their estimations would be skewed. It wasn't a permanent solution, but it bought them the time Desmond needed to find Destrian. If Destrian could disappear, then he could help Desmond and Freya disappear too. That was the plan, anyway.
The walk, so far, wasn't terrible. Most of the forest undergrowth was dead and it made it easy to slip between the trees without leaving an obvious trail. Desmond's mind churned with the details he had committed to memory and based on his estimations, they had about a fourteen-hour walk before they neared the area where Destrian was thought to be. Then, they had to find Destrian. Desmond felt himself cracking beneath the stress of it all, but one look at Freya made him stand a taller. He would gladly shoulder the stress if it meant that she was safe.
"Eat," Desmond urged her as they walked, "You're going to need your strength. We have a long walk ahead of us and we can only afford short breaks." Even if she was upset with him, his tone didn't leave room for argument.
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Post by Val on Aug 14, 2020 19:22:41 GMT
If Freya felt any reassurance from his words, she didn't show it. Hearing Desmond stutter and plead with her was confusing, to say the least. In her eyes, he had become the embodiment of strength and perfection over the years. He didn't hesitate, he didn't make mistakes, and he didn't show fear. Now, her perception of him had been cracked and she couldn't seem to piece it back together in the same way. The image of her perfect guardian had been disrupted, and Freya suddenly felt as though her own identity had been robbed as well.
The further they traveled away from Paragon, the more lost Freya felt. Part of her wanted to return to her bedroom and forget this had ever happened, but the newly awakened part of her yearned for freedom- something that had never been a possibility until now. Desmond had granted her that possibility, just like he gifted her with everything else, and suddenly it was her turn to feel guilty. She glanced up at him after some time walking in eerie silence through the forest, but didn't know what to say. As good as it had felt to give him the silent treatment, she now felt selfish for doing so.
Freya opened her mouth to speak, but Desmond beat her to it. She sighed, finding relief over the familiar command, and rummaged through the top of her pack in search of a snack. Pulling out a bag of nuts and berries, she began to nibble on them despite the protests of her nervous stomach. Finally, she felt herself beginning to calm down and forget the bout of rebellion, deciding it was easier to do what she'd always done- obey and trust Desmond.
It was then that the hairs on the back of her stood up, alerting to the inevitable presence of the spirits that lurked in the woods. The voices were so faint and quiet that she strained to hear them and stared through the shadowy trees as she anticipated them materializing like they did in her dreams. She had stopped eating by now and could feel her heart rate picking up as she was pursued by the relentless wraiths. If this walk was as long as Desmond was implying, she couldn't deal with this the entire way.
Stopping abruptly, she planted her feet into the dirt and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voices to dissipate, "My medicine," she voiced her plea, a slight tremble wracking her body, "Please, Desmond," she begged quietly, wondering why he hadn't given her a dose in the first place. She was done pretending to be strong- she needed Desmond and she needed her medicine. Now.
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Post by starrea on Aug 16, 2020 22:46:50 GMT
The more Desmond and Freya walked, the angrier Desmond got. Everything Desmond was doing, everything he was risking, was for Freya. He wasn't just risking his own life to save hers, he was abandoning his beliefs and his family. He was becoming the very type of person he had been taught to hate, the type of person who would free someone like Freya, even though she had the very potential to bring civilizations to their knees. Somewhere along the way, Desmond became more than just Freya's handler and Freya became more than his prisoner. The worst part is that Desmond knew what he was doing was wrong, but he didn't care. He would make the same choice over and over again because at the end of the day, all that mattered was that Freya was okay. And she couldn't even find it in herself to be a little grateful.
Desmond hadn't looked over to check if Freya had obeyed him but he was pleased when he heard her quietly nibble at some trail mix. Silence fell between them again and Desmond just focused on navigating the terrain. Even though he was still angry about Freya's lack of unappreciative, Desmond was careful to hold branches out of Freya's way or stomp any thorns down for Freya. It was still dark enough that Desmond could hardly see more than two or three feet in front of him and the blackness forced them to move slower than he would have liked. Every now and then, Desmond glanced over his shoulder but all was silent and still. With any luck, it would be another couple of hours before their disappearance was noticed.
Desmond had been deep in the recesses of his mind when Freya suddenly stopped, pulling him to an abrupt halt as well. He turned back to look at her, his frosty anger already softening at the sound of the distress in her voice. It was tempting to have the pills in his pack, so close, but Desmond knew he couldn't give them to her. The pills made her drowsy and slow, and even if he carried her, it would slow them down too much. He would rather Freya be scared than dead, he reasoned with himself as he battled the guilt that was settling in his stomach.
"No," Desmond said sternly, giving her hand a harsh tug to pull her back into motion. They didn't have time to stop, not so soon. "No medicine. It makes you tired, and we can't slow down. If we slow down, we die," Desmond said flatly. He felt another twinge of guilt for his insensitivity, but it was just another drop in the ocean of guilt that seemed to apart of Desmond now. He slowed down his steps a little, just enough so that he wasn't just pulling Freya behind him anymore and they were walking side-by-side. "You have to be strong. I know you can do it. If you won't do it for me, do it for yourself. We just need to get at least halfway before you can take a dose, you just have to hang on for a couple of hours." He reassured, even though it would hardly reassure Freya. Desmond swallowed down the guilt that was choking him, dreading the next several hours just as much as Freya probably was.
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Post by Val on Aug 17, 2020 21:02:32 GMT
No? Freya felt the rejection land like a rock in her stomach, but she was hardly able to digest before Desmond's yanked her back into motion. She stumbled along as a sense of dread washed over her; she was going to have to suffer the whole way, or die. The options made her sick, especially since a few hours felt like a lifetime to her. Still, she obeyed as silent tears streamed down her cheeks and blurred her already limited vision.
Once again, the frustration toward Desmond flared up with a vengeance. It was unfair of him to expect so much from her. She wasn't prepared for this physically, let alone emotionally. Her body was already putting up a protest from the exertion, complete with aching feet and a throbbing in both her head and her sides. Instead of voicing her frustrations, she fell into another bout of spiteful silence and stormed onward through the darkness.
It was difficult to keep track of time when paranoia was constantly hanging over Freya's head. The voices continued their quiet barrage, but they didn't escalate beyond indecipherable whispers- yet. When Freya could finally see more than a few feet in any direction, she realized that the sun was beginning to rise. Subtle rays of light peaked through the trees, illuminating the forest floor with a dull glow. At least an hour or two had passed, maybe more, but Desmond still appeared intent on keeping up a steady pace. Freya, on the other hand, took this as a signal for a break.
She stopped abruptly again, managing to slip her small hand out of his- something she was getting pretty good at. Avoiding Desmond's gaze altogether, she moved to collapse under a tree with a heavy sigh of exhaustion. She hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face behind them, trying steady her breathing. She felt incredibly light headed from the laborious trek, and she was sure blisters were forming on her feet by now. She felt the urge to accuse Desmond of not preparing her for this- or anything for that matter- but when she spoke her tone was apologetic.
"I don't feel well," she told him, seeking the pity she knew she could acquire from him. As she waited for a response, it dawned on her that the voices had stopped rather abruptly. In fact, everything was eerily quiet, to the point where it seemed like even the birds had stopped chirping their morning songs.
"Where are we..." she began to ask Desmond, slowly lifting her head from where it was buried behind her knees. But when her eyes came back into focus, she was faced with the unmistakable sight of a human silhouette that was standing in the shadows several yards behind Desmond. The body was absolutely still, but the head was contorted unnaturally, dangling as though its neck had been broken. Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated in trepidation as she waited for the spirit to make a move, but it remained impossibly still. Waiting.
Freya swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat and forced herself to breathe, "I think we should go that way," she suggested quietly, lifting a finger to point in the direction of the unsettling shadow. She offered no further explanation, though her eyes remained trained on some distant point behind Desmond. No matter how terrified she was of the haunting figures, she couldn't resist the incredible urge to find out what they wanted from her.
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Post by starrea on Aug 18, 2020 3:00:23 GMT
Desmond didn't have to look back at Freya to see the damage his denial had done. His job hadn't just been to simply take care of Freya, it was to know Freya better than she knew herself - and he did. He knew exactly how hard his words hit and the emotions she would inevitably cycle through before she landed on silent compliance. He could picture the horrified look on Freya's face when she realized that she was going to have to face the spirits sober and the air between between thick with resentment. There was nothing Desmond could do to, not without compromising their lives, so he just clenched his jaw and trudged on, pulling Freya behind him in steely silence.
It wasn't until a least an hour had passed that Desmond finally looked back to check on Freya to see that she had lost herself somewhere in the recesses of her mind. It wasn't unusual for Freya to mentally check out, especially during times of stress. Sometimes it was easy for Desmond to bring her out of it, sometimes it wasn't. Most of the time, it wasn't something he liked to facilitate but Desmond felt a rush of gratitude that she was blissfully unaware. It saved Desmond from ultimately failing to soothe her panic and from having to ignore her anger and complaints, all without considerably slowing her down. It was for the best, he reasoned, because the longer she was blacked out, the less she would suffer.
The walk was uneventful. Desmond was careful to lead Freya through the easiest path and luckily, even while she was mentally checked out, she still seemed to respond reasonably well to the environment around and stepped up and over obstacles in her way. He wasn't in any sort of shape for a fourteen hour hike either and the soreness started to really set in a couple of hours after the adrenaline wore off. It was a blessing that they had run on a night where the moon was tucked behind the clouds because they were forced to move slowly, something he was silently appreciative for. Desmond knew that if he was feeling sore, Freya must be on the verge of collapsing but as long as she blissfully unaware of her discomfort, Desmond knew he needed to push on. Hours passed and Desmond didn't even stop to retrieve the water from his pack. All he could focus on was putting as much distance between them and Paragon's base while Freya was blacked out as possible.
By the time light started to poke through the canopy of leaves above them, at least eight or so hours had passed. Despite their slow pace, Desmond was reasonably sure that they were making good time. Based on the landmarks and Desmond's general sense of direction, he figured they were nearing where Paragon assumed Destrian was residing. The walk hadn't been nearly as long as he thought, a thought that made Desmond sag with appreciation. He wasn't sure if he could walk for another five or so hours, let alone Freya.
Freya's hand slipped from Desmond's hand for the first time in nearly eight hours and the loss of contact almost made Desmond trip. He spun around, nervous that she had tripped and fallen in her mentally-absent state, but instead he found that she had collapsed at the base of a tree. His eyes anxiously raked over her body, checking for injuries until he saw her face and realized that she was fully conscious again. She didn't appear to be aware that was missing time but she never really had been, or least she had never asked about it, and Desmond never really talked to her about it. Instead, Desmond collapsed on the ground near her, not strong enough to pass up the opportunity for a break. Even though Freya had barely whispered, her voice broke through the early morning air with clarity but Desmond still didn't respond. There was nothing to say, nothing he could do about it. He didn't feel good either, but it was probably only a fraction of the pain Freya was feeling.
Desmond closed his eyes, letting his body relax as they sat. He barely registered her question and it wasn't until Freya offered up a direction that Desmond opened his eyes to follow her gaze. Her gaze was fixed on something but he was unsurprised to find nothing there. He tiredly rubbed a hand down his face, contemplating the direction in which she pointed. He didn't have an idea where Destrian's specific location was, so Freya's choice in direction was as good as any.
It nearly took divine intervention for Desmond to get to his feet, but he finally did and slung the pack back over his shoulder. He held his hand out towards Freya, "Okay," He agreed, "You lead the way." Desmond had never given Freya the opportunity to lead nor the opportunity to entertain the spirits that plagued her, but things were changing between them.
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Post by Val on Aug 22, 2020 19:04:16 GMT
Freya zoned out once again as she awaited an answer from Desmond, unable to tear her gaze away from the statuesque figure that had taken root amongst the trees. Something akin to gravity was pulling her in the spirit's direction, and the only thing that kept her stuck in place was complete physical exhaustion. Being separated from the Paragon and weened from her medicine was already amplifying her abilities and bringing up long forgotten memories and feelings. She remembered the urge to listen, to follow, to understand the suffering beings that sought her out- things long repressed over the years. But now, freedom was calling.
She blinked when Desmond's hand appeared in her line of sight, forcing her to tear her gaze away and look up at him. Her first instinct was to resist, because she was sure her body was ready to give up on her. She rubbed her eyes sleepily and flexed her toes within her boots, wincing from the throbbing pain that followed. Continuing onward felt nearly impossible. However, the sheer shock of being given the opportunity to lead was distracting enough to set her into motion. Taking Desmond's hand, she allowed him to help her to her feet. Immediately, her head spun and her screaming feet threatened imminent collapse, but she managed to steady herself with a deep breath.
Glancing toward the trees, she confirmed that the presence was still waiting before stepping forward. As if on queue, the shadow mimicked her, stepping forward once and then waiting again. Curious, Freya continued onward at a slow pace, observing as the mysterious figure followed her lead. Yes- she was meant to follow. Wordlessly, Freya guided Desmond into the unknown, following the lead of the limp-necked figure like a hound dog that caught a good scent. Just like that, they fell back into a rhythm of trekking toward the unknown. Even though they had no particular destination, the reality was that anywhere was better than being caught by Paragon. It was very possible that the creature had sinister intentions, but it seemed unlikely that their mystery destination could be worse than the alternative.
Although Freya had become their guide, she was still relying on Desmond to keep her going. Eventually, she leaned into his side and tucked herself beneath his arm, like his body was one big crutch. She wasn't sure how long she could keep this up, but the spirit didn't seem like it was going to leave them any time soon.
"Do you have a plan?" she whispered after a while, taking the opportunity to dig for answers now that Desmond seemed receptive to giving her more leeway. The shift in balance between them felt strange and uncomfortable to her, but Freya was in desperate need of a distraction from the pain. An indeterminate number of hours in silence left her feeling starved for the sound of his voice. Tilting her head back, she peered up at him expectantly, her faith in him unmistakable. Of course he had a plan.
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Post by starrea on Aug 24, 2020 18:27:57 GMT
The second the words left his mouth, Desmond began to doubt his decision. His exhaustion was clouding his ability to make rational decisions; letting Freya entertain the spirits was incredibly risky. Based on Freya's infrequent encounters with them and her daily nightmares, the spirits didn't seem friendly and even though Freya felt drawn towards them, Desmond couldn't help but wonder if the spirits were leading them further into the wilderness to watch them die. Not only that, but the true extent of Freya's abilities were still unknown and it was irresponsible to meddle with powers beyond their comprehension. Their lives were at stake and he had handed control over to an exhausted girl with abilities beyond her comprehension and her trust in something that wasn't there.
It was too late; Freya had already taken the lead and Desmond was left to wordlessly follow, wondering if he made the right decision. Freya was locked onto something that wasn't there, following it intently, and Desmond wondered what the spirit looked like. Did it walk? Did it float? Did it look... human? He had never asked Freya these questions, had never entertained any conversation that would give the impression that engaging with the spirits was anything other than unacceptable. As time passed, Freya went from just holding Desmond's hand to clinging onto him to leaning most of her weight onto him. Desmond's entire body ached with exhaustion but he shouldered her weight thanklessly, allowing her guide him as they followed the spirit Desmond couldn't see.
A comfortable silence had fallen between them; it wasn't contentious like it had been before, but rather one in which they were simply too exhausted to speak. Desmond's mind was slow to register that Freya had even spoken and was even slower to process her question and he spared the briefest of glances to look down at her. Freya usually knew not to ask questions but Desmond wasn't blind to the way things were shifting between them and he felt that she deserved some answers.
"We're looking for someone; Destrian. I used to know him, he used to be like me. He was apart of the same program that assigned you to me, except he was assigned someone else. A girl who could become smoke, but it was... different. She could level entire towns. She killed indiscriminately. She was dangerous, very dangerous, and beyond the point of saving. I think they were planning to execute her when Destrian took the girl and disappeared. He was the only person I've ever heard of who successfully escaped and if we're going to disappear, we need to find him. They've tracked him to this general area, but..." Desmond trailed off, letting the silence finish what he couldn't say. If they didn't find Destrian soon, both of them were going to collapse from exhaustion and their provisions would only last them so long.
Desmond looked down at Freya again, who was still tucked safely into his side, being supported by one of his arms, and tried to gauge her reaction. Freya knew that there were others like her who came through Paragon, but Desmond had always reminded her that she was luckiest. Even though Freya had been housed nearby others with similar abilities, Desmond had rarely allowed her see them and never let her speak more than a few words to anyone. Her interactions with others had been insignificant and infrequent over the years and Desmond wondered what Freya would think about finally meeting someone else who held power comparable to her own. It wasn't until Desmond spoke of the smoke girl that he realized the potential influence the smoke girl could have on Freya. The thought alone was enough to send chills through Desmond, especially knowing her capabilities, but he shoved it out of his mind for the time being; it was a problem for another day.
The plan, now that it had been spoken aloud, sounded more like a pipe dream than anything. The entire plan rested on the Paragon's intelligence of Destrian's general location, but if they had been wrong or miscalculated, then Freya and Desmond were just aimlessly wandering around the wilderness.
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Post by Val on Aug 26, 2020 0:03:36 GMT
Freya was beginning to think that Desmond was intent on withholding the details as the silence stretched on between them. She'd grown quite used to being in the dark about most things, but it was surprisingly disheartening to think that the shift between them had all been a part of her imagination. Now that she'd gotten a taste of what their new relationship could become, she longed for more.
Her eyes remained carefully fixated on the ghostly shadow as an attempt to distract herself from the disappointment; that is until Desmond began to speak and she was completely unprepared for what he had to say. For some reason, she had never considered the possibility that they were planning on meeting up with other people. Her distrust in the mysterious strangers was instantaneous and her lips formed into a pout when she realized that it wasn't going to be just her and Desmond on the run. She subconsciously curled her fingers into his shirt as his description of the girl instilled fear, and perhaps a bit of possessiveness, into her. She suddenly wished that he hadn't shared the details with her after all. Even though Freya allegedly fell under the same category as this mass murderer, she didn't see herself that way. In reality, she had no idea what she was capable of. Memories of her life before Paragon were extremely hazy and she'd never been given the opportunity to fully explore her abilities. From her perspective, there was no possible way that she could be considered as dangerous as the picture of a genocidal maniac that Desmond had painted for her.
"Can we trust them?" she pressed, her tone borderline challenging him. Maybe Desmond wasn't thinking this all the way through. She understood that their situation was desperate, but trusting these supposed escapees seemed like a risky shot in the dark. Ultimately, though, her unwavering trust in Desmond remained and fear of the unknown was not enough to break it.
Distracted by the inner turmoil that she was going through, it took Freya several moments to realize that the shadowy figure had stopped moving. She immediately put the breaks on, digging her heels into the dirt to stop Desmond. She stared, wide eyed as they stood closer to the entity than ever before. She could make out features now; it was a man and his neck was clearly snapped, as she had guessed before. The face was expressionless, but she could see that it was slowly opening its mouth, though no words were spoken. The jaw stretched wider and wider until the face was contorted in in a grotesquely unnatural manner and maggots began to spill from its orifices.
Freya's entire body began to tremble and she wanted to scream, but she couldn't. This wasn't over; she needed to know what the tortured soul wanted from her so it would finally leave her alone. She lifted a foot to step forward, but as soon as her boot touch the earth in front of her, the figure vanished. Freya blinked rapidly in bewilderment, scanning the treeline only to find that the haunter was nowhere to be found. Detaching herself from Desmond, she ran toward the spot it had disappeared from and burst through the undergrowth to stumble into a small clearing. It was empty, but the location itself sent cold chills running up her spine. She spun in a complete circle, looking for something- anything that would provide answers.
And then she saw it: two glowing yellow eyes peering out at her from the shadowy bushes across the clearing. She froze when she realized this creature was not like the others- it was animalistic and predatory. It was real. "Desmond!" she shrieked as the beast launched itself out into the open with an guttural snarl.
A sleek, black panther landed in the center of the clearing with it's fangs bared and tail lashing. It eyed the strange people that had intruded upon its territory, muscles rippling as it prowled in front of them in warning. Then, it lifted its head and let out a high pitched yowl that was loud enough to be heard for some distance. The sound didn't appear to be a battle cry; rather, the predator appeared to be calling for back up.
Destrian sat on the front porch of the run down cabin that he and Cyra had taken refuge in, preparing to spend the day hunting. With Ari gone on a solo mission, he was left to his own devices as he attempted to navigate his rocky relationship with Cyra whilst maintaining some semblance of sanity. Ever since the dramatic breakthrough he and Cyra had shared, things had been a bit better between them, even if it was at the expense of another's life. Guilt had continued to gnaw at him for his actions, but he had become very adept at suppressing such feelings. There was no time to dwell, anyway, and his plans for the future would have to be enough to make up for all the wrongs in his life.
He was busy sharpening the heads of his hunting arrows when a faint noise caught his attention. It sounded almost like a high pitched scream, but it wouldn't be the first time he mistook a bird call for a woman's screams- an unfortunate side affect of a traumatic life. Nevertheless, he stood and slung his hunting bow over his shoulder, standing at the edge of the porch to listen. That's when the unmistakable yowl registered- Jynx.
Moving swiftly, he gathered the arrows he'd been working on and paused at the front window, banging his fist against it, "Watch the house. I need to check on something," he commanded Cyra, though knowing her she would be hot on his heels simply to spite him. Not bothering to wait for an answer, he took off down the front steps and continued at a swift jog toward the sound of his loyal companion's call. It was only a matter of seconds before he realized that the path he was taking was a familiar one, and he knew exactly what lay at the end of it: the burial spot.
Shaking the thought from his mind, he quickly approached the treeline and slipped amongst the shadows, his steps quiet and skillfully deliberate. Soon enough, he could hear the low rumble of his panther's growl and he slowed down, taking cover behind a thick tree trunk. Heavy breathing and voices could be heard, alerting him to the fact that there were at least two people that had stumbled into the clearing. He peered around the tree and studied the strangers as he quickly assessed the situation- a man and a woman, both young, both exhausted. The girl looked exceptionally frail and non threatening. The man looked healthy enough, but appeared generally nonthreatening to Destrian's trained eye. Deciding he could handle the situation, he notched one of his arrows in the hunting bow and drew it back, steadying himself before he stepped out of the shadows.
Destrian materialized from the treeline behind Jynx, weapon drawn and aimed at the two. The duo made for an intimidating presence; an apex predator and a well trained solider whose pale skin was covered head to toe in inky black markings. But it was nothing compared to the threat they posed when Cyra was involved. His dark eyes narrowed suspiciously and he jerked his chin, clearly communicating with the panther. Jynx's eyes were trained carefully on her master and she took off the moment she was given the command, slinking into the forest to scan the perimeter for any more intruders.
"On your knees. Now," Destrian demanded, gesturing with his loaded bow at the two of them, "Toss your packs. Slowly. Then hands in the air," he instructed, approaching carefully to get a better look at the two of them. Something was oddly familiar about the pair, but he couldn't quite place it, which only added to his caution, "Who are you?" he questioned, the words hanging in the air between them as he got the nagging feeling that he already knew the answer.
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Post by starrea on Aug 28, 2020 2:02:28 GMT
Cyra gave up; she grabbed the empty of piece of paper in front of her, tearing it to shreds before tossing the remains into the unlit fireplace. The empty page had mocked her far too long, but retribution would come in the form of flames - by the end of the night, the paper would be nothing more than inconsequential ash. Before Ari had left, she had suggested that Cyra try to express herself in 'healthier' ways, like journaling or drawing. The mere suggestion was offensive and while the sting of the comment hadn't faded, the long days and endless boredom finally wore her down. Her failure was especially bothersome because the original idea had been Ari's, but she couldn't think of anything worth marring the surface of the stark-white nothingness for. Somehow the empty page did a better job describing how she felt than any words she could have hoped to conjure up anyway.
The days had blurred together into one unrecognizable wash of repetition and monotony since that day out in the forest with Destrian and her date from the bar. Even though Cyra was aware of time passing, she had stopped trying to keep track of the days. Time was of no consequence to someone who evidently couldn't die, especially when she lost all interest in the outside world. When Destrian hadn't come up to the mountain to free her; he had simply traded her mountainous cage for a cabin - only this time, there was nothing physical tethering her to the house. Theoretically, Cyra knew she had the power to get up and walk out the front door. The only restriction she had was she couldn't go back into town, not after being spotted by a handful of townsfolk as a tall, column of smoke, but she didn't have to stay here. But she didn't have anywhere else to go, either, and with no understanding of the way the world worked or education, she was at Destrian's mercy.
In a lot of ways, Cyra still felt like a little girl - something that was more obvious whenever she was around Destrian. They had hardly spoken since that night in the woods, but even in their limited, awkward conversations, Destrian sometimes used words that Cyra didn't know and spoke of things that Cyra had never heard of. She never pointed it out to Destrian or tried to draw attention to her lack of knowledge, but the words rattled around in her head long after they finished talking. It only reinforced the inevitable truth that made Cyra heavy with despondency; she was completely reliant on Destrian, a burden he did not want to bear.
Cyra was a professional at outlasting time. The mountaintop prison had made this cabin look like an amusement park but the amenities made no difference. She hardly did anything - her schedule alternated between staring out of the window and sleeping. She didn't go outside and she rarely ventured into shared spaces, unwilling to suffer through small-talk with Destrian. Even though she didn't need food to survive, the lack of nutrition was starting to show through her pronounced cheekbones. At least when she had been imprisoned in the mountain, she had hope that there was a better life for her somewhere out there. Now, she realized she had been wrong.
Destrian knew something wasn't right with her, but he never pushed it whenever she said nothing was wrong. In a way, she wasn't lying. There was too much nothing. Nothing was slowly clogging her arteries, nothing was filling her lungs, nothing was weighing her limbs down. She had spent years imagining how she'd rant and rage and rave in the face of Destrian, how she would finally be free, how she would live - but none of that had come to fruition. There was only a cold numbness and the slow crumbling that would inevitably be her unbecoming.
At first, Cyra didn't give a shit where Destrian was going. She couldn't care less how he spent his days, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that this was something unusual. Even though she was sinking in despair, she couldn't resist the temptation of a break in the monotony. She got to her feet suddenly, clumisly, almost tripping over herself as she scrambled towards the door. Destrian had already been gone for well over two or three minutes and she was suddenly scared that she wouldn't be able to find him, wouldn't be able to experience anything to break up the repetition of the days. The sensations assaulted her when she stepped outside and she shied away for a moment as her body adjusted to the brightness. A flash of movement caught her eye and she saw Destrian disappear in a familiar direction and knew exactly where he was going.
By the time she caught up to Destrian, he was holding two strangers at the business end of an arrow. Despite being far more deadly than Destrian could ever hope to be, she immediately shied away from the strangers, hiding behind him. These people were apart of a world that Cyra knew nothing about and lacked the skills to connect with them and she no longer pretended that she didn't care. She wasn't brave, not when it came to interacting with people.
Freya's question made Desmond frown but only because he didn't know the answer. He let the silence speak for him, unwilling to lie to Freya but also reluctant to admit just how much of their plan relied on the existence and cooperation of Destrian and Cyra. The plan was embarrassingly poorly-constructed, held together mostly by hope that not only would they find Destrian and Cyra, but that they would help them. But it was all they had, and this plan was better than no plan at all.
Their stop was abrupt and Desmond's gaze flickered between Freya and the spot where she was looking. The spot, of course, was empty but the look on Freya's face suggested she was seeing something grotesque. Desmond felt queasy as he anxiously watched her, finding it maddening that he couldn't help her. All he could do was stand there and let Freya handle this all on her own. For half a minute or so, neither of them moved. Desmond didn't want to say anything, didn't want to break whatever trance Freya was in. It felt unnatural to watch her entertain the spirits for so long when he had spent years prohibiting that exact behavior, but everything was different now. When Freya sprang forward, Desmond almost lost his balance. Fear seized him as his eyes wildly locked onto Freya, who was running ahead of him, and his pain was forgotten as he took off after her. Her run was short-lived and Desmond screeched to a halt behind her, quick to lock her hand in his. The sight of her running - away from him - had resulted in another release of adrenaline. He couldn't lose her, not after all he had done to get her safety.
"Don't run like that," Desmond snapped, his gaze following Freya's to where she was looking. He wasn't expecting anything to be there, so it took a moment for him to process that there were a very-real set of eyes staring back at them, and Freya's screech spurred him into motion. He grabbed her and shoved her behind him, using his body to shield her from the large cat. "If that cat attacks me, you run, okay? I'll keep it focused on me and you run and you don't look back," Desmond commanded in a harsh whisper, eyes locked on the beast in front of them. The cat didn't appear to be stalking towards them, though. It wasn't about to let them leave, though, either - it let out a low rumble every time Desmond tried to back him and Freya up.
A voice cut through the silence - Desmond had been so focused on the cat that he had failed to notice another person. His head whipped to face the other person and the recognition was instantaneous. Destrian was obviously older, taller, and more rugged but he had the same face he did as a teenager. Desmond grabbed Freya's arm, pushing her down to her knees and following quickly in suit. He made quick work of their packs, tossing them halfway between where they knelt and Destrian.
"Don't be scared Freya, he is who we are looking for," He comforted her quietly before he looked back at Destrian with raised hands. "Destrian, do you remember me?" He asked calmly, studying Destrian's face to see if the other man recognized him. A shadow of movement behind Destrian caught Desmond's eyes and he saw a girl lurking behind him. The relief was short-lived; Destrian still had the girl with him, the same girl who had been captured and sentenced to death because of how she indiscriminately and recklessly she destroyed entire villages. Just being in her presence was enough to make Desmond acutely aware of his own mortality, and more importantly, the mortality of the girl kneeling behind him.
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