STARCROSSED
001. before dishonor
Moments to herself have been, ironically, nonexistent these past two days. How has she gotten to this point? Like heck if she knows the answer; but she half knows who's the cause of it. Well, it's actually her; but whatever. She makes no move to close her eyes or even move from the ground. She doesn't want to feel anything, can't feel anything but a numbing and reverberating jolt moving through her entire body. Yet, all she can find herself doing is just laying out in the open, palms up and gaze skyward as if it's an invitation. But it's the throbbing in her side that truly jolts her awake. She closes her eyes once more, but there isn't an ounce of hope that the pain will subside any time soon. Knowing this, she clenches her eyes tighter – a prayer, a cry for help in her own strange way, and the thought is absolutely laughable. So instead, she pushes herself up despite the pain. Easy there girl, easy-! Though it isn't raining, there is still grime and mud everywhere. Drenched and utterly soaked in the most uncomfortable of places with a dislocated joint and bruised all over isn't exactly her idea of a thrilling situation. Purple and burgundy markings trail along the side her white skin, a long tear down the side of her shirt exposes more markings – still fresh, and stinging. A groan escapes her lips, but she pushes attempts to propel herself forward, inducing her weight to her shaking legs and continuing to use the scratchy trunk of the tree to support herself. How long was I…?
It's too dark to make out her surroundings, but at the very least she knows she's in the woods. Probably the edge of Jump. Right… right, I'm in Jump City. Almost as if the words themselves had been a trigger, another painful throb hits her head. She almost uses her right arm to get a hold of her forehead, but the limb does well to remind her that it's of no use right now – she can't even rely on her left arm since it's the only thing keeping her from falling. A blink, and she then turns her head toward her right shoulder, staring and unmoving. She's never had a dislocated shoulder before. Once again, she maneuvers her weight, pushing herself against the large trunk despite the pain, running on sheer willpower. She groans, and after a moment, gingerly places a palm on her shoulder.
oh..kAY badideabadideEA!
As if her own skin is on fire, she rips her palm off her shoulder, trying not to double over and slide down in pain. Obvious first rule of a dislocated joint: never touch the aforementioned dislocated joint roughly. A chill works itself down to her spine, and despite her groggy state and splitting headache, she has enough sense to know that she has to get help. As if on cue, when she feels the vibrating sensation, her mind quickly and automatically deduces the little device is going to ring and wow, they must keep really good tabs on me; the timing is impe— But then a little lightbulb goes off in her head, and she remembers, clear as day, that the stupid thing had been dropped into the depths of the ground when she was flying for her life, and it broke into tiny little pieces and— It's her cell phone that's ringing, not the T-Com.
Well shoot me in the bloody foot.
Just get a move on already. Her thoughts are resolute and solid as stone, but her constant lip biting and shifty movements indicate otherwise. The flight here took more time than she would have liked, and had it been other circumstances, Argent wouldn't have let it bother her. Being the free spirit she is, and the kind she likes others to see, she would have even enjoyed the vastly different change of weather, appreciated the scenery and perhaps even stop a few times to actually take a look at her surroundings. However, as the situation stands, there's only one thing set on her mind at the moment. And despite the stuffy weather and her growing impatience, her interior is crying for help – desperate and willing. But she doesn't want to let herself give in so easily; she's getting more nervous, and the phone's ringing seems to be getting louder. Despite herself and the chill that worms through her gut almost painfully and despite her throbbing dislocated shoulder, she wrenches her good arm with a snarl and flips the little black device open. There's a sharp crack sound; a stupid cheap little thing, and she holds it to her ear. She says nothing, and her heart is beating like wildfire. There is only static, only for a few seconds though, before she hears a very sharp intake of breath on the other line.
"Hiya doll; did you really think you can cut our little rendezvous short? Tsk tsk, such a disappointment."
She holds the phone away for a second to roll her eyes; but it's almost as if they can see that small gesture.
"Now, now, don't get full with attitude, princess; we still have to set up for lunch later. Besides, it wouldn't do you any favors to that face, especially considering how you already look like a burnt mop."
She has half a mind to look around, am I being seen? But it's too painful to even do that. Her lips form a thin line instead.
"Glad to hear how chipper you are. What's the hold up?"
Argent scoffs. "Are ya kiddin' me, right now?! Are ya daft or what? I just practically dove headfirst against a bloody god knows what and you're asking me what's the hold up?!"
"I love it when you talk prissy. Such a turn on, please; don't stop on my account." The fact that she can feel the amusement laced into the uninterested robotic words pisses her off. Or perhaps it's the blood pounding against her head. She's laying here against a tree in the middle of nowhere, and she's being handled like some hindrance; as if she asked to be here in the first place.
"Go burn, you bloody twat."
"Uh huh, sure. I'll do that after you ask dear old daddy for forgiveness. Oh, and definitely after you get some fashion sense that doesn't scream 'look-at-me-I'm-so-emo-and-desperate-for-attention'." A pause, "I'm only saying this since, you and I, both know neither of which would happen in a million years."
She has no answer to that either, and so she remains silent; black, smeared lips tightly clenched in a painful gesture that whitens even more from the pressure she's applying to them.
"I figured as much." Gone is the playful edge to the voice, and she doesn't know why, of all things, that particular makes her insides clench in anticipation. The words themselves are not to be taken seriously, but it's the sudden business-like bite to the robotic tone that make her dread whatever this psychopath is about to relay. Will the whole thing just go away if she says nothing? "Stop prolonging the inevitable; you're wasting time. Why aren't you where you're supposed to be?"
Right on cue, the electric flash of pain rumbles through her whole body, coming from the dislocated arm. Her teeth are bared like an animal's as she chokes in anger and sheer white sensation. "I just said—"
"I didn't ask for excuses little girl; I asked you a direct question."
"For the bloody twelveth time if ya jus' let me talk!" The voice doesn't respond, and so she takes a second to compose herself. "I'm down. And I have a dislocated joint." Somewhere in her head, she doesn't know where, a vein pops when she hears a jolt of static through the cell phone. She'd first thought it was a signal error due to the area, but it takes her a second to realize it's a snicker.
"You've got to be joking."
Bloody tool— "No." She says tersely. "I'm not."
"Well then hop to it; it's a perfect entrance, wouldn't you say? It's all wrapped in a neat bow and on a silver platter."
"You're bloody demented."
"I would really not be talking, Morticia. Lest you're heard by the wrong ear; maybe you want to keep that in mind before you continue running your mouth. Yesterday was your first and last time to reap the consequences of your actions. Nobody is going to help you."
And for the first time since she met this strange entity giving her orders through a cheap cell phone, Argent realizes that this… this whole thing… it's real. And it's happening and she's been alone. She has this… this demented voice that comes from the cheap cell phone that she had been ordered to get via a chat message on her email before she had to flee the premises of her own home, and that's it. She forces a painful swallow, and she wills herself to not lose it; she's still in shock and her eyes clench in the overwhelming sensation to hurl. Nobody else is going to help me; not with what I've done.
"I'm doing you a favor; for your own sake, you may want to remember that from here on out. Figure it out and get it done. I'll be calling to check on you." And then the line goes dead, and she's alone all over again.
Just like always.