02-18-2014, 07:24 PM
Torri knew what she was, but she did not assume she came off as weak or unable. He probably didn't mean to call her defenseless, but coming from Michael - being who he was - the judgement stung.
As though he read her thoughts, his expression deepened, darkened by a senseless cloud blackening out the sky. She'd seen it before: a cold fury barely held back. The distance between them suddenly didn't seem enough, but if Michael were trying to intimidate her, well, he did a good job of it, but Torri would not back down.
Jaw clenched and eyes narrow, she poured through an all-too clear memory. There were things she'd preferred not to have seen.
"Fire,"
she finally said, but like it were the most normal thing in the world. A normal fire. Not a flat sheet of flame positioned between two men. or.. whatever. "The assailant screamed,"
again, not the best word. "Then both it and the fire were gone. And you collapsed."
If he were going to try and intimidate her, she should remind him that he was flesh and blood and as vulnerable as any other man.
She let out a heavy exhale. If she'd saved him, as he attested, why distrust her? That must be why he asked for the entirety of what she'd seen. Michael was clearly a tactician, which was the soldier version for a politician. He was covering his ass. For doing what, Torri could only guess, but suspicion began to connect dots she could no longer ignore. One thing about her, reality was not something that could come or go when it suited her.
She wheeled a stool over and sat near his bed. "I know, Michael"
she told him, searching his gaze for recognition or an attempted denial. "That you're one of the Survivors..."
, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say it out loud.
... of The Sickness.
As though he read her thoughts, his expression deepened, darkened by a senseless cloud blackening out the sky. She'd seen it before: a cold fury barely held back. The distance between them suddenly didn't seem enough, but if Michael were trying to intimidate her, well, he did a good job of it, but Torri would not back down.
Jaw clenched and eyes narrow, she poured through an all-too clear memory. There were things she'd preferred not to have seen.
"Fire,"
she finally said, but like it were the most normal thing in the world. A normal fire. Not a flat sheet of flame positioned between two men. or.. whatever. "The assailant screamed,"
again, not the best word. "Then both it and the fire were gone. And you collapsed."
If he were going to try and intimidate her, she should remind him that he was flesh and blood and as vulnerable as any other man.
She let out a heavy exhale. If she'd saved him, as he attested, why distrust her? That must be why he asked for the entirety of what she'd seen. Michael was clearly a tactician, which was the soldier version for a politician. He was covering his ass. For doing what, Torri could only guess, but suspicion began to connect dots she could no longer ignore. One thing about her, reality was not something that could come or go when it suited her.
She wheeled a stool over and sat near his bed. "I know, Michael"
she told him, searching his gaze for recognition or an attempted denial. "That you're one of the Survivors..."
, but she couldn't quite bring herself to say it out loud.
... of The Sickness.