cannulalingus | BARH-L2 || SPAM

[ O P E N ]

[ It's hard to do much of anything - breathing's the worst of it, though. Something so simple and she hears her own breath heaving and whistling with every inhale and exhale. She's propped upright by now, at least, shaky and shaken, but okay. Living. Alive. That's crazy. How is she alive?

The cannula's back in place, her sweater sleeves are pulled well and nervously over her hands, and she keeps constantly playing with her hair, adjusting herself, if she's not sleeping it off outright. She wishes she had some of the good stuff. She wishes she had a book, or something, while her limbs shook and shuddered too much to stand, but that was neither here nor there.

She can't blame Helena. Not when she knows the basics. She can't blame her any more than those poor pitbulls can be blamed for being whipped into fighting dogs. She was raised cruel, and she was raised a killer. That's not easy to shake. Logically, at least, she knows.

Consciously, it's kind of hard not to hold it against her.

It's not easy for her to lay on her side - physically, yeah, because she's sore as hell and all over, for that matter - but because she has a strange new temporary paranoia of pointing her back towards anything in particular (or rather away from anyone in particular. But she does anyway, curls on her side and faces the door for anyone who might be walking in. She doesn't expect many visitors, not when she's new here. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Spock? Like the Spock? Live long and prosper Spock? She would ask if it wasn't for the rest of Iris' story, heart-breaking in its own way and rough to hear. She's already learned some of the dangers of this place and what it can do to people, bring upon people. Hell, she's already dealt with some of it first hand.

She's never had to kill a friend. She's not sure she can imagine killing someone that close, especially with something so intimate like a knife. Seems like a nightmare. ]

That sounds absolutely - awful, I'm glad you could have that pick-me-up after the fact. I'm-I'm really glad.

[ She sighs and inhales deeply again, a rattle to her throat that she's ignoring for the time being. ]

Helena - has her reasons. [ Cosima's smile is tight but coy, as if she does know something else - she knows plenty - but she's not about to start letting it up. ] It's complicated. I guess our relationship's gonna be a bigger mess than I thought.

[ But - never mind Helena, she hesitates for a moment. ] I don't... know how much I'm gonna be able to keep down. Not gonna lie. It's been harsh, man.

Take it slow, my love. It's got honey and a dash of whisky in it - not enough to 'ave much effect, but it 'elps the antoxidants and stuff down. Death toll's always a bugger. And aye, that were a bad one. Me and Babs were both down, then. Emperor and me made it up eventually, though. Well, more or less.

[The breach between them is deep but narrow; unmendable, but easily stepped over. It's good enough, even if Iris' face is a little wistful when she speaks of it.]

You knew 'er before? Usually when we get doubles, they're from different universes. I'm sorry. I'm being nosy.

[ 'Taking it slow' isn't exactly something within Cosima's vocabulary; she pushes herself more often than she doesn't, hides things she shouldn't and keeps up at least a facade of her strength being what it is. A warrior in the body of a biologist, unsuspecting. She's not a fighter, but she is strong and she will push herself.

She expects to be up as soon as she can. Cane or not. ]

We're clones.

[ She comes right out and says it, her smile flat and unapologetic. ] Back home, I mean, we're - we're the same DNA, down to nearly the last strand, we're clones, and we're all different, we're all separate. [ She gestures idly to her face, tiredly. ] But it doesn't change much.

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