Sabine wasn't paying attention to the two men who scurried away or the man who said to calm down. She wasn't even paying attention to the dripping water or her lack of clothes. She was staring at her outstretched hand. The way her metacarpals shifted the skin on the back of her hand just enough to wrinkle, and then the tight stretch of it over her knuckles as she curled her fingers into her hand, feeling the tension of the muscles within that fist, down the underside of her forearm, the delicate, sharp press of her nails into her palm.
Being nude and soaking wet and the people hunkered were causes for concern, but not as much as—
Corporality.
She'd been walking Jack through the very last door—Employees Only a red slash against so much white—and suddenly. Here? Solidly here? Awake? Alive? Her brow was already wrinkled when she looked back up at the man suddenly shoving a pile of clothes into her hands, which only helped her first words along, "No towel?"
Apparently not. The clothes went on. Soft against her skin that seemed just to keep announcing where else it went on existing. Her expression remains neutrally confused, with a side of suspiciously ready for business, already trying to decide whom to question first. Still, there was no flicker of reaction at the magic used to resize, cut, and shape of her clothes.
This city is still more concerned with itself than her or anyone else who seems to have arrived around the same time. Everyone is running to and fro, taking care of victims of some terrible abduction that appears to have involved a gruesome amount of torture and genetic mutation. It's hard to make sense of the whole lot of it. Unbalance. Like she was dropped into the middle of someone else's story, a side character no one had a specific need of after that weird 'Chosen One' speech on the way to her new room.
In media res had nothing on this.
🆃🅷🅾🆁🅽🅴
There's a nebulous strangeness to the feel of this place. Outside her, inside her; it's hard to tell still. Equilibrium is a boat she mans but an ocean that still flounders in flux. Oily uncertainty ebbs. Shifting shoals. A deep, resonant vibrating hum beneath it all. And every once in a while, when she isn't focused on anything, a soft pitter-patter of a beat she can't quite place that tugs at her with an ache of insistence but not name or direction.
Still, with nothing else to keep her hands busy and fewer answers than questions—which seems to be the same for people who have come here and have always lived here—she agrees to help pick flowers in the garden for the care packages being made and to be part of a group of people who will be delivering them around the hospital.
🆂🅾🅻🆅🆄🅽🅽
With nothing else to keep her hands busy and fewer answers than questions—which seems to be the same for people who have come here and have always lived here—she agrees to help hang bone wreaths to The Old Gods of this new city, and deliver hot meals to the victims of recent events.
After a few days of those, she gives in to the constant encouragement to offer a first blessing. Even if the arrival was unasked for, she could be grateful for being clothed, fed, sheltered, and not being in the straits of those she's been helping. She brings with her a leaf. Wide-reaching, thick veins running down to tiny ones. It's green with spring, and it reminds her of home, which is not beside the point, as when she steps in front of the altar, she raises it to her lips, letting it brush her skin, before looking down at it again.
"Thank you for the kindness that's been given to me since arriving," Sabine placed it on the altar before adding a softer whisper, "I don't need your blessing. Just send it to him. Keep Jack safe until I can get back."
Sabine | Empress | Tales From The Gas Station
Being nude and soaking wet and the people hunkered
were causes for concern, but not as much as—
She'd been walking Jack through the very last door—Employees Only a red slash against so much white—and suddenly. Here? Solidly here? Awake? Alive? Her brow was already wrinkled when she looked back up at the man suddenly shoving a pile of clothes into her hands, which only helped her first words along, "No towel?"
Apparently not. The clothes went on. Soft against her skin that seemed just to keep announcing where else it went on existing. Her expression remains neutrally confused, with a side of suspiciously ready for business, already trying to decide whom to question first. Still, there was no flicker of reaction at the magic used to resize, cut, and shape of her clothes.
This city is still more concerned with itself than her or anyone else who seems to have arrived around the same time. Everyone is running to and fro, taking care of victims of some terrible abduction that appears to have involved a gruesome amount of torture and genetic mutation. It's hard to make sense of the whole lot of it. Unbalance. Like she was dropped into the middle of someone else's story, a side character no one had a specific need of after that weird 'Chosen One' speech on the way to her new room.
In media res had nothing on this.
🆃🅷🅾🆁🅽🅴
There's a nebulous strangeness to the feel of this place. Outside her, inside her; it's hard to tell still. Equilibrium is a boat she mans but an ocean that still flounders in flux. Oily uncertainty ebbs. Shifting shoals. A deep, resonant vibrating hum beneath it all. And every once in a while, when she isn't focused on anything, a soft pitter-patter of a beat she can't quite place that tugs at her with an ache of insistence but not name or direction.
Still, with nothing else to keep her hands busy and fewer answers than questions—which seems to be the same for people who have come here and have always lived here—she agrees to help pick flowers in the garden for the care packages being made and to be part of a group of people who will be delivering them around the hospital.
🆂🅾🅻🆅🆄🅽🅽
With nothing else to keep her hands busy and fewer answers than questions—which seems to be the same for people who have come here and have always lived here—she agrees to help hang bone wreaths to The Old Gods of this new city, and deliver hot meals to the victims of recent events.
After a few days of those, she gives in to the constant encouragement to offer a first blessing. Even if the arrival was unasked for, she could be grateful for being clothed, fed, sheltered, and not being in the straits of those she's been helping. She brings with her a leaf. Wide-reaching, thick veins running down to tiny ones. It's green with spring, and it reminds her of home, which is not beside the point, as when she steps in front of the altar, she raises it to her lips, letting it brush her skin, before looking down at it again.
"Thank you for the kindness that's been given to me since arriving,"
Sabine placed it on the altar before adding a softer whisper,
"I don't need your blessing. Just send it to him.
Keep Jack safe until I can get back."