08-20-2013, 12:40 PM
A couple of hours rest and a blissfully hot shower later, and Ori was ready to move on; she’d pick up her mother’s meds on the way home, study for a bit – if she could be bothered – and by then it’d be time to start thinking about getting ready for her afternoon shift. Just another day. And just like any other day, she expected the corridor to be empty. Nobody was usually up this early. Except today, obviously.
Perhaps she’d been roused by the slap of water against the tiles in the communal shower-room. Or the clank and moan of the pressure system as it geared itself up to usefulness. But it look an awful fucking lot like she’d been waiting. Ori’s brows drew down in scrutiny; the woman was leaning against a piece of wall between the dorm doors, hands thrust deep into the pockets of a hoodie, back hunched, but her eyes were alert. She straightened when she saw Oriena - pushed off the wall with a moment’s spark of confrontational energy, before she appeared to change her mind and wrapped her arms about herself instead.
“You,”
Ori said flatly.
“I almost wish you were one of them. At least then I could -- but, ugh, this is worse.” There was something tightly contained about her, like every facet of her being was under strict control, but there was also agitation; nerves in the way her eyes never settled, like she’d been watching her back for a long time. Her arms were folded tight, and their grip about her ribcage seemed to tighten every time her gaze clashed with Ori’s. “And I don’t like it.”
“Forgive me.”
Oriena’s tone was polite; too polite. It erred to a shade of sweet sarcasm. “For being a fucking annoyance.”
She made a vague gesture like she wanted to get passed, though her eyes were trained intensely on the woman in front of her. She could feel the power bubbling beneath her skin, like an extension of her irritation, and through it she could smell the lingering scent of shampoo in her own still-damp hair, could see every eyelash rimming the other woman’s cautious eyes. The whole world was a shade more alive, more vibrant. And the moment Ori walked away it’d be gone, taking the flush of sweetness with it. “If you have something to say, say it.”
A moment’s silence reigned, in which a furrow deepened on the woman’s brow and Ori sighed, hefted her bag and made to move passed.
Fuck this.
Only it felt like a hand braced against her shoulder, holding her back. The woman hadn’t moved. But it wasn’t that, nor the sudden swinging open of a door, that stopped her dead. It was the overwhelming sense of recognition, like a clink of sudden harmony in the discord. That caught her attention. Little surprise registered on her face; you didn’t survive Oriena’s brand of upbringing without the self-contained discipline to shut others out, but she did draw instinctively deep on that sense of strength in reaction. So much it felt like her veins might burst through her skin, until her grip faltered and failed, and the light winked out.
The woman’s eyes grew horrendously large in her gaunt face, and even without her extra sense Ori could taste the fear. Old fear, well-worn and shabby but still incredibly potent. She looked uncomfortable, like the force of Ori’s gaze pinned her to somewhere vulnerable; maybe that was all that was keeping her here, because she certainly looked ready to run. Not that sympathy persuaded Ori to let up - she was utterly determined to root out even a hint of lie. But she did finally speak. “What is it?”
“Death.” The answer was immediate; resigned. Her face was bleak, even though her lips curved in a cold little smile. Her fingers brushed over her curls. “You have no fucking idea.” When she lowered her hand it was trembling, and she squeezed it shut slowly. “You walk around sparking up like a lightbulb, and they’ll find you. They trace you here, and they find me too.” She shook her head viciously, and with a newfound surge of strength jabbed a finger at the open door. Usually the order would have rankled. Usually Ori would have told the woman where to stuff it. But one word reverberated.
They.
It was insane, but she didn’t consider walking away. Outcast, exile, freak. She had always assumed she was just her mother’s daughter. Delusional. Unhinged. She’d embraced it; had thought she understood it. Until now. A dry smirk twisted her lips, followed by a grim breath of laughter. “Oriena,”
she said by way of introduction as she entered the room.
Perhaps she’d been roused by the slap of water against the tiles in the communal shower-room. Or the clank and moan of the pressure system as it geared itself up to usefulness. But it look an awful fucking lot like she’d been waiting. Ori’s brows drew down in scrutiny; the woman was leaning against a piece of wall between the dorm doors, hands thrust deep into the pockets of a hoodie, back hunched, but her eyes were alert. She straightened when she saw Oriena - pushed off the wall with a moment’s spark of confrontational energy, before she appeared to change her mind and wrapped her arms about herself instead.
“You,”
Ori said flatly.
“I almost wish you were one of them. At least then I could -- but, ugh, this is worse.” There was something tightly contained about her, like every facet of her being was under strict control, but there was also agitation; nerves in the way her eyes never settled, like she’d been watching her back for a long time. Her arms were folded tight, and their grip about her ribcage seemed to tighten every time her gaze clashed with Ori’s. “And I don’t like it.”
“Forgive me.”
Oriena’s tone was polite; too polite. It erred to a shade of sweet sarcasm. “For being a fucking annoyance.”
She made a vague gesture like she wanted to get passed, though her eyes were trained intensely on the woman in front of her. She could feel the power bubbling beneath her skin, like an extension of her irritation, and through it she could smell the lingering scent of shampoo in her own still-damp hair, could see every eyelash rimming the other woman’s cautious eyes. The whole world was a shade more alive, more vibrant. And the moment Ori walked away it’d be gone, taking the flush of sweetness with it. “If you have something to say, say it.”
A moment’s silence reigned, in which a furrow deepened on the woman’s brow and Ori sighed, hefted her bag and made to move passed.
Fuck this.
Only it felt like a hand braced against her shoulder, holding her back. The woman hadn’t moved. But it wasn’t that, nor the sudden swinging open of a door, that stopped her dead. It was the overwhelming sense of recognition, like a clink of sudden harmony in the discord. That caught her attention. Little surprise registered on her face; you didn’t survive Oriena’s brand of upbringing without the self-contained discipline to shut others out, but she did draw instinctively deep on that sense of strength in reaction. So much it felt like her veins might burst through her skin, until her grip faltered and failed, and the light winked out.
The woman’s eyes grew horrendously large in her gaunt face, and even without her extra sense Ori could taste the fear. Old fear, well-worn and shabby but still incredibly potent. She looked uncomfortable, like the force of Ori’s gaze pinned her to somewhere vulnerable; maybe that was all that was keeping her here, because she certainly looked ready to run. Not that sympathy persuaded Ori to let up - she was utterly determined to root out even a hint of lie. But she did finally speak. “What is it?”
“Death.” The answer was immediate; resigned. Her face was bleak, even though her lips curved in a cold little smile. Her fingers brushed over her curls. “You have no fucking idea.” When she lowered her hand it was trembling, and she squeezed it shut slowly. “You walk around sparking up like a lightbulb, and they’ll find you. They trace you here, and they find me too.” She shook her head viciously, and with a newfound surge of strength jabbed a finger at the open door. Usually the order would have rankled. Usually Ori would have told the woman where to stuff it. But one word reverberated.
They.
It was insane, but she didn’t consider walking away. Outcast, exile, freak. She had always assumed she was just her mother’s daughter. Delusional. Unhinged. She’d embraced it; had thought she understood it. Until now. A dry smirk twisted her lips, followed by a grim breath of laughter. “Oriena,”
she said by way of introduction as she entered the room.
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)