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dankmemes2016-09-19 06:40 pm
meatbrained) wrote in dankmemes2016-09-19 06:40 pm
(no subject)
how it works:
i. post a comment with the characters you play.
ii. go around and prompt other players with a 5 + 1 prompt (e.g. "Five times Hope said sorry and one time he didn't")
iii. write a fic for the prompts people leave you!
iv. enjoy your fic? we hope?
kai
Hannah Washington | Until Dawn |
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I'm sorry I'm not more sorry.ii. five times Hannah looked up to Emily and one time she didn't.
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Mountains in the Fade feel like the real thing, she imagines, scaling as quickly as she can with her fingers digging painfully into rock and dirt. Before she is Inquisitor, or even Herald, Cecily Trevelyan scrambles upward, retreating from the hungry shrieks of some of the Fade's array of monsters to reach out and grab the hand of - a spirit, it has to be, who tugs and then shoves her to safety.
Not long after, two women - strangers - have her in chains. Everyone at the Conclave is dead, one shouts. Everyone except for you. Cecily has no memory of any of it, but she has a glowing gash in her palm that no one can explain. She also has pins in her hair, but when the Seeker catches sight of her trying to pick the lock of her manacles, she strikes Cecily and puts an end to it. Cecily can't do much, then, except thumb wonderingly at the green sliver.
Months later, the Herald of Andraste's face splits into a shaky grin as she stares down the 'Elder One,' the being (the monster) who'd so kindly given her the anchor in the first place, who'd come to retrieve it. She takes a sword into unsteady hands, looking decided not grim despite the plan she's about to set in motion, despite Corypheus and the blighted dragon. He won't kill her today, though, because she is stubborn as anything and takes her fate in to her own hands as she brings the sword down on the gears of the trebuchet. As the mountain with all its weight of snow collapses on them, she is still smirking.
At the Winter Palace, the pair that sweeps across the dance floor is scandalizing (in the best way, in the way that Orlesians seem to love). The Grand Duchess smiles behind her mask and her jewels and her gown and lets the Inquisitor lead, as a test. The Inquisitor smiles without any of the same trappings, adorned in regulation formal wear and with her wits. One hand clasps Florianne's while the other is securely placed on her waist. Cecily can practically hear Josephine cheering as the Inquisitor finally chooses to employ some clever tact, not directly questioning the Duchess as Cecily wants to, and instead bantering loudly for the crowd to drink it up. When it ends, she dips Florianne and holds her there for a moment; her arms are strong, her hands are strong.
In the end, they are surrounded by rubble, smoke, and dust, but they are alive. The Inquisitor bends to brush her fingertips along the broken remains of Corypheus' crimson orb; Solas appears, watching her, expression grim. She lifts her gaze to frown at him, finding the energy to be annoyed that the mage can't celebrate for a moment now that they've finally won. Instead, she keeps her silence and he, too, bends to examine the orb. There's a sadness in his eyes that startles her, and Cecily considers (however uncharacteristic) reaching out to grasp his shoulder, to... apologize, even, for their not being able to recover the artifact. ... But, the others call out to her, draw her attentions away. She resolves to ask him about it later, but later doesn't come for years.
A small, dandelion-strewn field within the Hinterlands holds within it two figures. One, a brunette woman with a smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes. Two, a little girl with a mess of blonde curls and a laugh that rings like a bell. She can barely walk, is trying her hardest to totter around through the yellow patches so she can rip them up and deposit them in her mother's lap. Aislin babbles, expression bright, and steps forward with a fist full of flowers. She stumbles, trips, hit the soft ground with a wail when there is nothing to catch her. Cecily is stunned momentarily, pulse hard in her throat, before she reaches out to console her daughter by scooping her up with one arm, smoothing her hair with five fingers. Aislin blinks back tears and stares up at her mother, silently accusatory. Cecily thinks: sweetling, that arm betrayed us both.
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They're in gym. It's dodgeball day, and though Hannah loves dodgeball (she loves most sports), Emily is in a sour mood at the required activity. To make matters worse, she slips as she goes in to strike the rubber ball with her foot, crashing to the ground and earning the scattered laughter of some of their classmates. She cradles the ankle, looking it over with an even darker scowl; it's bad enough that she can quit playing, but the boy playing catcher comes up to give her a hard time. "I don't even know your fucking name, prick," she growls (Hannah knows it; Hannah knows most of the guys' names in their class). The guy (Rick) rags on Emily, pulling faces and sneering. In another moment, though, he's flat on his ass - Emily had stuck out her good leg and dragged it, knocking him over to another round of appreciative laughs. After, both Rick and Emily are in trouble and are hurt, but when Hannah and Emily make brief eye contact, there's a faint, faint smile exchanged.
They're at the mall. In Sephora, to be exact. Jess is pouring over lip gloss and Beth is picking out a bottle of nail polish and Hannah... discretely asks one of the workers for advice, speaking quietly enough so that the others don't immediately bounce over and ask after what she's doing. She gets settled in the chair, has the shop girl chatting away as she applies this and that, making recommendations, and by the end, Hannah doesn't recognize herself... in the worst way. She frowns with now-painted lips, peers unhappily through too-dark eyes. The girl hadn't made her look ridiculous on purpose, but now she does look ridiculous, and she isn't sure how to remedy it so that the others don't see. It's as she sits in silence, after the salesgirl wanders off, confused, that Emily appears, to Hannah's shock and unhappiness. Still, though - Emily merely frowns, saying nothing, and then takes a makeup wipe to Hannah's face, rubbing gently enough, but removing most of the evidence of the badly-applied mess. When she steps away, there are still bits and pieces, but ones that accentuate Hannah's better features, not highlight her worse ones. Hannah thanks her on a whisper; Emily rolls her eyes, but half-smiles anyway.
Michael Munroe is dating a freckled blonde from a higher grade and they are both jealous. Emily and Hannah glare at the girl, though the former is happy to make her dislike obvious and Hannah only stares when the girl isn't looking. Emily speaks out (to Jess, to Matt) about how the bitch needs to get a clue, how she's obviously trying too hard, and Hannah merely nods fervently in silence, eyes wide. She is full of bitterness and a hatred for a stranger that is like an infection. It's finally something she and Emily can really bond over. Emily wears the feeling better.
They shouldn't, but they'd posted the highest scorers for the P-SATs on a corkboard in the hallway. About half of the grade crowded around it, hoping (mostly in vain) that they'd made it onto the list, and the other half milled around elsewhere, making snide comments and acting entirely unconcerned with the results. Hannah stands in the first group, rising to the tips of her toes to peer at the names, sighing with relief to see her own included, albeit closer to the bottom. Dark eyes rise to find the most lauded student, that enviable person at the very top, who would surely get in wherever he or she applied - it isn't a surprise to read Emily's name there. Emily herself is absent, perhaps having known already to expect this result. There are a few jealous mutters, but Hannah just stares, wide-eyed, awed. You couldn't study for these things, exactly, but Emily made it all seem effortless in her easy academic successes. Hannah swallows, gaze falling to her own name again, feeling inadequate.
The school is having a fair and the inflatable obstacle course is just too enticing to pass up. They go in pairs, scrambling through it, laughing wildly and flailing from start to finish. Josh and Sam come out the other side with Josh trying to grab at Sam's ankle to stop her from winning, and they're all nearly in tears with the absurdity of the situation. Hannah and Emily go next, moving as fast as one can in such a flimsy environment, and when Hannah makes it through the end first, she's out of breath, collapsing in the grass with a grin. Emily emerges, more put-together, shaking her head already at the defeat. "You're too good at that stuff," she sighs, brushing off her jeans (which, admittedly, had not been helpful as legwear during the attempt). "Props to you for however the hell you got through there so fast, Han." Hannah blinks, surprise, having expected a cool dismissal, but she smiles, then, appreciative. Emily rarely gave compliments, particularly after a loss, and the moment is... not soon forgotten.
Just last week, Emily had been bad-mouthing Mike for being a blind, moronic asshole. This week, they're sitting together at lunch, her ankle hooked around his, leaning in too close. Dating. Dating! Hannah watches now, alone, eyes wide and mind shut out to everything else. Sam knows too easily what's going on and tries to recapture her attention, but Hannah is fully occupied in the confusion of having so recently bonded with Emily about - about their mutual crush, she'd assumed, and now seeing the other girl having claimed her prize. She thinks: I would have done the same thing. More loudly, though, is: What a dick move. She watches them for a while, something new and ugly curdling in her stomach. Once again, Emily has, and Hannah has not. Where she would usually be meekly envious, she now feels the harsh sting of a new bitterness, worse than ever before.