06-25-2020, 01:08 AM
“I know when you go
down all your darkest roads
I would have followed all the way
to the graveyard.”
down all your darkest roads
I would have followed all the way
to the graveyard.”
She had known that he would not ask such a question for no reason. Carnage had never been one for hypothetical games, or at least, not with her. She had known that when he asked her what would you do for me? that he had every intention of finding out. Although she still, after all these years, would never claim to entirely know him, it could be argued that she knew him better than most. But he was still unpredictable in ways few could ever imagine.
She expects him to hurt her, the way he has before.
She expects the lair, she expects him to make her beg, she expects another sea to drown her, and mentally she is prepared for that.
She does not expect the alien-like creature that comes from the brush, and a flicker of recognition flashes plainly across her face. Ripley. Only, it isn’t Ripley. They are strikingly similar, and it is clear, even without her having to ask, that it is some relation to her daughter — and to her. It makes her heart twist inside of her chest.
Carnage shakes her from her strange thoughts, and she feels her blood run cold at his request. “Kill it?” She repeats, as if she may have misheard him, even though she knows she did not. She can feel her heartbeat quicken, she can feel anxiety begin to take hold — because she knows she is about to disobey him. Every part of her is warring with itself — the part of her that endlessly wanted to please was now at odds with the part of her that was too good to needlessly murder.
He knows exactly how to phrase his command to make her mind spin, to make her desperately search for a solution because she would do almost anything to keep him from being angry at her (she is not sure when that part changed — when she went from just trying to stay alive, to where she is now, where she is more afraid of disappointing him than she is of being hurt).
Almost anything.
“I can’t,” she says softly, shrinking away from him, and from the creature. “You know that I can’t – that I wouldn’t – kill anyone.” Her dark eyes tear away from the alien creature, to look at him, a useless kind of plea that she still cannot help but to make, “Don’t ask me to be someone I’m not.”
She expects him to hurt her, the way he has before.
She expects the lair, she expects him to make her beg, she expects another sea to drown her, and mentally she is prepared for that.
She does not expect the alien-like creature that comes from the brush, and a flicker of recognition flashes plainly across her face. Ripley. Only, it isn’t Ripley. They are strikingly similar, and it is clear, even without her having to ask, that it is some relation to her daughter — and to her. It makes her heart twist inside of her chest.
Carnage shakes her from her strange thoughts, and she feels her blood run cold at his request. “Kill it?” She repeats, as if she may have misheard him, even though she knows she did not. She can feel her heartbeat quicken, she can feel anxiety begin to take hold — because she knows she is about to disobey him. Every part of her is warring with itself — the part of her that endlessly wanted to please was now at odds with the part of her that was too good to needlessly murder.
He knows exactly how to phrase his command to make her mind spin, to make her desperately search for a solution because she would do almost anything to keep him from being angry at her (she is not sure when that part changed — when she went from just trying to stay alive, to where she is now, where she is more afraid of disappointing him than she is of being hurt).
Almost anything.
“I can’t,” she says softly, shrinking away from him, and from the creature. “You know that I can’t – that I wouldn’t – kill anyone.” Her dark eyes tear away from the alien creature, to look at him, a useless kind of plea that she still cannot help but to make, “Don’t ask me to be someone I’m not.”
ryatah
@[Carnage]