http://minettedonnel.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
minettedonnel.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fissionmailed2009-10-31 02:40 pm
minettedonnel.livejournal.com) wrote in fissionmailed2009-10-31 02:40 pm
Entry tags:
ac!d trip
[...and the sleep gas was fading, or perhaps he was fading into it, cloud-white and weightless once again. Or not. There was a ground beneath this body's feet, of sorts, steady beneath the pinched, girlish shoes - and there were walls nearby, not curving and dotted with windows but straight, solid.
Somewhere new.
He looked down at herself. Still the same shape, a 'Minette' if that was what you wished to call it, dressed in black and red and with pale hands streaked with blood. Little hands. Always smaller than he remembered, delicate and feminine and smaller than they were on the inside. Though he had always been called delicate.
It didn't matter. Bodies never mattered, until you didn't have one, and then you craved it and would take anything you could force your way into.
Perhaps that was what had happened. Perhaps the plane had dropped out of the sky and his mind had scrabbled its way to this new place - but the body was still the same. That was good, really. She had found it was a useful body. Soft and unassuming, a suitable hiding place.
The last breaths of poison-mist swum out from under his skirts, expiring. She was still holding the knife, though the broken canvas that had been lying at her feet had vanished.
She knelt on the floor, and began to carve his number.]
((OOC: have a Minette, taken from the end of MGA.))
Somewhere new.
He looked down at herself. Still the same shape, a 'Minette' if that was what you wished to call it, dressed in black and red and with pale hands streaked with blood. Little hands. Always smaller than he remembered, delicate and feminine and smaller than they were on the inside. Though he had always been called delicate.
It didn't matter. Bodies never mattered, until you didn't have one, and then you craved it and would take anything you could force your way into.
Perhaps that was what had happened. Perhaps the plane had dropped out of the sky and his mind had scrabbled its way to this new place - but the body was still the same. That was good, really. She had found it was a useful body. Soft and unassuming, a suitable hiding place.
The last breaths of poison-mist swum out from under his skirts, expiring. She was still holding the knife, though the broken canvas that had been lying at her feet had vanished.
She knelt on the floor, and began to carve his number.]
((OOC: have a Minette, taken from the end of MGA.))
no subject
How...sad. It was memories that made identities, that tell people who they are - but here was a woman with a year of life and feelings swaddled away and suffocating. Minette was the same; wiped clean three years ago, left with no memory of his origins or any name she might once have had.
He was the number on the floor. She raked out the vertical stroke of the last figure.]
That happened to me once too. My body died, so I had to find a different one to wake up in. This one. That was a long time ago now. I'm not sure how I got here today...
[He sensed that this woman liked names - found more personhood in them than she did in codes or numbers.] I'm Minette.
no subject
[Screaming Mantis, her unitmate had dolls, which were rumored to be possessed by Mantis and Sorrow themselves...but she didn't know if there was any truth to it herself. But this girl was certainly a lot bigger than the dolls SM carried around!]
Minette? [She managed a smile, bending down to the girl's level. If she felt comfortable giving her real name, she'd give her own name as well.]
My name is Sarina... [She tilted her head, looking at the number.] ...what does this number mean?
no subject
Sarina...that's a beautiful name.
[He was cutting a horizontal line on the floor.] It's me. My number. There were 130 of us.
[But now there are only two.
With the horizontal stroke, she'd made a 1, a 0 and a +. The knife was losing its sharpness now, making it hard to carve against the grain, but he was almost done now. Only one cut left.]
no subject
Thanks! Minette is a pretty name too, teehee~!
130...? [Intrigued, she tilted her head.] Are you all...clones...family...friends? Haha...?
no subject
[To make one stronger through the sacrifice of all the rest. Number 16, the Neoteny - the Ritual's sole survivor...except for him.
She looked up into Sarina's face, and saw fair eyes and lips creased with laughter. What strength he found there was brittle - full of pressurised secrets just waiting to explode. Like Number 16 - turned into what she is by the trauma of keeping her life while killing others.
For 104, being dead had simplified so many things.
She found himself wanting to tell Sarina what it was really like - to be killed by another through no fault of their own, and then to watch that other break inside while you, somehow, remained - in three knotted layers of names and namelessness - whole and healthy. She could, at least, try to reassure her new friend about it.]
Sarina...something sad happened to you, didn't it?
no subject
Perhaps she really did know about that incident, so many years ago, in her native Devil's Village that still traumatized her to this day. Screaming Mantis was able to read minds, so perhaps this girl was gifted with a similar power. In either case, she wasn't going to give out more information than necessary.]
Of course...haha...something sad has happened to everyone, hasn't it?
no subject
I suppose. But you don't seem like the sort of person who would get into a fight just like that! It must have been very sad for you indeed.
no subject