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“ I will get her next time. ” It's said with a visual and audible grimace, his shortcomings still echoing in his mind. She was a freaking cloud. He lets out a sigh, arms crossed over his chest as he sits rigidly in his makeshift bed in the pantry. YOU FAILED. YOU LIED. Spite rings in his mind, which drives him to open his eyes and look at @unforsake. “ I failed us, and I'm sorry. I didn't think I was this rusty. ”
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@unforsake : “ you’ve never been there for anyone, no one but yourself. ”
she’s angry, he can practically feel it radiating off of her. and maybe, he should be more bothered by the anger and hurt in her eyes. but, he can’t be bothered to care right now. not when phillip has so much on his plate right now. if he felt any guilt for what he’s done, it was drowned by his desire to follow orders. “ i told you not to take personally, logan. it’s nothing personal. i was following orders ; if you did the same, we wouldn’t be in this situation. ”
every time she hears the rumble of an engine down the street, she can’t help but get excited. arthur is busy and she knows she can’t really ask, shouldn’t and probably wouldn’t get any answers if she did. she sees her neighbors peering out their curtains, expressions displaying they’re feeling very much the opposite about him being there. but he’s not what they think he is. gaea has never been the sort to assume things about people. a person covered in leather and tattoos can be the sweetest person, much like someone in floral could be the devil incarnate. and arthur, despite the bike and the kutte and everything that comes with him, has been wonderful. she doesn’t plan on giving up on their friendship anytime soon. which is exactly why she ran to get her ‘care package’ from the fridge, meeting him in her driveway. ❝ you weren’t kidding when you said you were close, ❞ she muses, tucking some hair behind an ear before holding out the container to him. ❝ it’s cold now but it’s homemade. meatloaf, roasted potatoes and corn. you can take it home or . . . come inside and have it? ❞
𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍 ╱ @unforsake.
“i dreamt about you again.” it’s little more than a whisper and only just audible over the thrum of machinery in the shop that shares the wall she sits against. it’s not the nicest place to try to sleep, but their options are limited and there’s a modicum of comfort in the armed civilians watching the yard that’s getting harder to find. her fingers are still sticky with dried blood from the wound in his thigh, now cleaned and bandaged as best they can with the half empty first aid kit she’d found in the desk. the room must have been an office before, and the desk between them and the door is more privacy than she’d expected they’d have.
“you died. again.” @unforsake
--- ¹ @unforsake / ² uncharted sentence starters .. you listen to your mom, okay?
it should take him off guard; catch him dead in his tracks with nothing but a tilted head and raised brow because she told him once— she told him he only gets one mom just like everybody else and his, well, IT WASN'T HER. it wasn't all that long ago. there hasn't been enough time elapsed for him to forget the way it made him feel or the way she looked at him, but there has been enough time for carter to stand on the other end of receiving looks that make him think she might just have been as scared as he was, as sad about the truth of it as he was, and that he wasn't the only one who thought both beth and rip acted a whole lot more like his parents than they ever did his friend. sometimes he wishes his parents could've been half the parental figures they are. these days, he takes a different approach to things though. not really in the art of ruining a good thing. “ she says it, i do it. i got it. ” at the corner of his lips the hint of a smirk unfurls. does rip even know what he just said? and even more .. he's been waiting to drop this one for longer than he'd ever admit: “ how long'd it take you to learn that? did i beat your record? ” maybe joking with his "dad" for all intents and purposes is the better part of his morning.
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>> @unforsake (owen): ..so with our luck, what’s the odds this volcano is going to erupt on us?
it's a fair estimation, and one claire has spent more time considering for the dinosaurs than for her own two feet, two arms and hell, her entire body— it was always just them on the island she was trying to save. claire never imagined stepping a foot back on isla nublar herself again. even in the wildest of her dreams. but there's an uneaten chunk of trauma chewing around in her teeth that tells her this is the only way to ensure there's at least some good to tilt all of the bad she orchestrated into some sort of balance. the only reason the dinosaurs were at the gates of extinction once again is because she couldn't protect them properly the first time around. the woes are buried deep in the crevices of her vessel.
“ i don't think it needs our luck to explode. i've been trying for months to get enough funding to do something before it happens. ” she picks at the skin around her nails as if the fallen flakes will somehow confuse the volcano for ash upon the ground and it'll cheat the impending doom in its tracks. guess she's always possessed a naive heart. a half-breath, half-groan escapes between her lips. “ but i don't think our luck is going to hold it off any longer so— try to think— ” her hands flourish in the air in an attempt to conjure the words, “ happy thoughts. or something. can you do that, owen? ”
"i've always admired pilots of any kind. commercial, combat... the idea of manning a large aircraft with multiple lives on board and getting from point a to point b in one piece... it's impressive. you must be good." sebastian is thoroughly embarrassed by each and every piece of clunky language and awkward compliment that leaves his mouth, but he prays @unforsake, who sits across the table, is charmed by them, not put off. "i was in the british army myself, but it wasn't... it wasn't a good decision for me. big regret in my life. my father practically made the decision for me, so i didn't really have a say. and i was fully on the ground the whole time; no flying jets or planes or anything — nothing like you." he softens his rambling with a warm smile in logan's direction, his hand absentmindedly reaching for his drink to soothe his nerves. this kind of conversation often leaves him feeling guilt-ridden and self-conscious, but perhaps logan, with similar experiences, will understand where he's coming from. "was it always your goal to be a pilot, logan? where did that idea stem from?"
' 'M NOT MUCH FOR STORIES I really only paid enough attention to answer my fathers questions during his long lectures, Yvore was the reader, could hardly get him to put his books down while you talked to him when we were younger. ' half a smile creeps onto his features as he briefly reminisces over fond memories, it had been almost a year since he had seen his younger brother and before he continued on he was sure to make a mental note to send him a raven as soon as they returned back to the keep. turning to the younger forrester he holds back a rather large branch out of the way, clearing the pass so that she may begin leading the two of them ahead. ' BUT PLEASE, enlighten me. since you seem to know so much about all of this I'll let you lead, I don't think you want the blind guiding you along where the old gods wandered. '
@unforsake asked: haven’t you heard the stories ? @ aymon from mira forrester.
