( the imminent, persisting problem: warn alina starkov against amputating a limb, and she'll go to the trouble of removing both arms just to prove she's perfectly capable of it. no matter how painful, no matter how crippling, no matter how tired she is of always having to draw on her (dwindling) strength to keep moving forward. that's all to say: alia's lethal sarcasm has the unfortunate side effect of convincing alina it can't hurt her more than it has to cut the dead weight of alia, of paul, out of her. can't be worse than shambling around in this limo between life and death, like the dissection has still left her bleeding out on an autopsy somewhere, unaware that removing those parts of her would mean nicking a vital artery.
self-destructively, she thinks it might even be freeing to put herself in the ground. to let the worms and maggots eat away at her mind until the thoughts stop, until she goes cold and doesn't have to face existence for — forever, if she's lucky. temporarily, if the manor is merciful enough to give her even the tiniest of reprieves. so, suffice to say: there's nothing good to be found in the pinched twist to her expression, like she's genuinely weighing alia's suggestion, an animal that would rather chew its flesh off in chunks than sit in this trap.
(un)fortunately, she's the only one among them that's without a crysknife (another tally in her hindbrain for alina starkov, outsider) to try it. she settles for removing alia from draping across her space, flinching until alia's body slides to the mattress. only shuffling away means bumping into paul and his looming shoulder, annoyingly, like she's uselessly trying to outrun her own shadow, left and right. immaturely, she finds a third (worse) option away from them by slipping down the foot of the bed and pooling onto the floor, uncaring if it pulls either of them into an uncomfortable hunch. they crushed her between them and their great, incomparable love for one another. the least they can suffer in return is a crick in their backs.
she pops the gum in her mouth, brattily filling up the spaces of silence. then, she forces alia's wrist forward to spit it out into her right palm, so she can sloppily stick it onto the leather-bound binding of one of paul's books. casual vandalism of her heart begets casual vandalism of his things.
icily as she crosses her legs, semi-satisfied: ) Figure it out yourselves.
( the inherent accusation: you're good at that. do whatever you want. you've already made unilateral decisions without my input. alina says nothing to the effect, denying them the honor of even her anger. instead, the exact opposite of a team player, alina contorts her wrist to a sharp angle, clearly prepared to break it to wriggle it past the tight bindings, without their help. even if it makes her teeth grit, a little, feeling the rope abrade the still-healing knife-slice in her palm. )
cw suicidal ideation...... sorry. she's normal
self-destructively, she thinks it might even be freeing to put herself in the ground. to let the worms and maggots eat away at her mind until the thoughts stop, until she goes cold and doesn't have to face existence for — forever, if she's lucky. temporarily, if the manor is merciful enough to give her even the tiniest of reprieves. so, suffice to say: there's nothing good to be found in the pinched twist to her expression, like she's genuinely weighing alia's suggestion, an animal that would rather chew its flesh off in chunks than sit in this trap.
(un)fortunately, she's the only one among them that's without a crysknife (another tally in her hindbrain for alina starkov, outsider) to try it. she settles for removing alia from draping across her space, flinching until alia's body slides to the mattress. only shuffling away means bumping into paul and his looming shoulder, annoyingly, like she's uselessly trying to outrun her own shadow, left and right. immaturely, she finds a third (worse) option away from them by slipping down the foot of the bed and pooling onto the floor, uncaring if it pulls either of them into an uncomfortable hunch. they crushed her between them and their great, incomparable love for one another. the least they can suffer in return is a crick in their backs.
she pops the gum in her mouth, brattily filling up the spaces of silence. then, she forces alia's wrist forward to spit it out into her right palm, so she can sloppily stick it onto the leather-bound binding of one of paul's books. casual vandalism of her heart begets casual vandalism of his things.
icily as she crosses her legs, semi-satisfied: ) Figure it out yourselves.
( the inherent accusation: you're good at that. do whatever you want. you've already made unilateral decisions without my input. alina says nothing to the effect, denying them the honor of even her anger. instead, the exact opposite of a team player, alina contorts her wrist to a sharp angle, clearly prepared to break it to wriggle it past the tight bindings, without their help. even if it makes her teeth grit, a little, feeling the rope abrade the still-healing knife-slice in her palm. )