Rinoa Heartilly (angel_wing) wrote in drawpoints, @ 2014-08-03 09:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative |
And these fights, they climb through my veins like it's mercury rising
Who: Rinoa (solo)
Where: Balamb // Her room
When: Early Sunday morning, August 3
Even despite getting back late from Garden the night before, Rinoa couldn’t sleep. All of her thoughts were a jumbled mess ever since seeing Squall. She couldn’t help but wonder if she maybe shouldn’t have gone to the party, if she should have made a point to see Squall on her own, how badly things were fucked up now. And she couldn’t stop thinking about those damn eyes of his, either.
She’d wanted to see him. She had to see him. And she’d known it was going to hurt. That didn’t mean she’d been as mentally prepared for it as she’d hoped.
So, rather than linger in bed, Rinoa grabbed her running shoes and went out. Running was a habit she’d picked up after she moved back to Timber, not necessarily as a workout regime sort of thing, but it did help her clear her mind. Sometimes Zone or Watts came with her, but this time, she just had Angelo. Granted, not that Angelo ran very far or very fast anymore, but still, she was company enough.
For those few minutes, all she thought about was the sound of her feet hitting the pavement, Angelo panting softly next to her, the wind as it moved through her ponytail. The clean up on the beach looked like it was making good progress, and the water beyond still looked beautiful as she ran past it. She had to admit, Balamb was beautiful. So was Timber, but in an entirely different way.
Rinoa had to believe that the change of scenery was doing her some good. She clung to that hope, stubbornly. It was a start.
Angelo couldn’t go as far as Rinoa wanted, so she looped back to the hotel, slowing her pace as she did so. With a wave to the receptionist, Rinoa headed up to her room, taking Angelo off her leash as she did so. All she could think about was a warm shower and then maybe she’d see about breakfast.
All those thoughts went out the window as soon as she checked her tablet. There was a message from Watts waiting for her. You should probably see this, the first message read, alongside a link to the Mognet post. The second message, sent a couple minutes later, simply said: I’m sorry, Princess.
It wasn’t like Rinoa didn’t know what Mognet was. Anonymous networks were always going to be full of trolls and everyone had an opinion on everything. Rinoa ignored that, most of the time. And she knew people had to be unhappy over her sorceress status, because it wasn’t like she was exactly thrilled with it either. This was the lot she’d been given, and she had to deal with it, or let herself be frozen to lock away her powers. Again, not an option.
But that still didn’t stop the rise of bile in the back of her throat as she read through all the posts. It didn’t make it stop hurting. The comments about burning witches, and the thought of her having a throwdown with Edea especially. We already did that once, assholes. It was called saving the Hyne-damned world. Most of this was directed at Edea, but still, she knew she was being mentioned. If Mognet caught wind of her planned meeting with the other sorceress later in the week, it could get worse. After all her tries to keep her sorceress status under wraps, it was still there, under the surface.
And Rinoa hated every minute of it.
Another message came through, from Watts. What do you want us to do?
It took Rinoa a few minutes to compose her answer. Nothing for now. People are going to talk no matter what. Give me some time to think. The boys, at least, would respect that, because they knew better than to cross her on a topic like this. Zone and Watts knew what she was, and knew how close she played that to her chest. They were like her brothers. She just didn’t want them to do anything stupid in the name of protecting her.
You were supposed to have a knight for that, she thought, and there was the heartache again. Rinoa sniffled, looking down at Angelo. Whatever she’d planned to do today, it was gone now. Today, she’d let herself wallow. And tomorrow she would pick herself back up and pretend like nothing had happened.
“Come on, Angelo,” she murmured, putting her tablet aside and patting the bed for her to jump up. “Let’s go back to bed.”