South doesn't hear Felix. She hears the roaring in her ears, the ghost sounds of the Meta, of taunting Wash, of that gunshot. She hears the beeping from monitors in the hospital here, after they brought her back, she hears her own blood rushing through her as she fights the staff off before they knock her ass back out to save her. She hears her own pulse pounding aggressively through her body, her mind trying to think of an escape. She can fight if she has to- she's convinced she can.
But just as she resigns herself to attempting slamming her helmet back at where she hopes the man's head is, grab her pistol, shoot at anything that shimmers while getting distance- he backs off. As silently and quickly as he was on her. Her throat is thick and her hands have a faint twitch, forcing herself to breathe slow, not give off the fight sense that's still ripping through her.
There's no time spent listening to him or even looking for him immediately, she's ripping her helmet back on her head and letting her carefully neutral face twist in a sneer, rage filling her, biting her tongue to keep from making it worse. She can't see him- she can't fucking see him but she can hear the Meta, and she's feeling herself in a sandy environment instead of the forest they're in, she's feeling the sting in her ankle, she's seeing Wash and Delta.
She blinks several times, forcing the ghosts away so she can focus on the situation.
"One of the last survivors." She confirms, bites back the sickness it makes her feel in her gut, pushes down the walking nightmares following her.
Fucking focus.
While her fingers twitch with want to grip her pistol, hold a weapon in her hand, something solid to comfort her; she moves to pick up her sandwich, wrapping it back up and stuffing it back in her bag, like she's not on the edge of her fucking nerves and like her head isn't loaded with more bullshit than she can even totally comprehend at the moment.
"Where'd you get the tech?" She asks, doubtful she'll get an answer but wanting to acknowledge that, yeah, she's fairly sure that's Freelancer tech.
no subject
But just as she resigns herself to attempting slamming her helmet back at where she hopes the man's head is, grab her pistol, shoot at anything that shimmers while getting distance- he backs off. As silently and quickly as he was on her. Her throat is thick and her hands have a faint twitch, forcing herself to breathe slow, not give off the fight sense that's still ripping through her.
There's no time spent listening to him or even looking for him immediately, she's ripping her helmet back on her head and letting her carefully neutral face twist in a sneer, rage filling her, biting her tongue to keep from making it worse. She can't see him- she can't fucking see him but she can hear the Meta, and she's feeling herself in a sandy environment instead of the forest they're in, she's feeling the sting in her ankle, she's seeing Wash and Delta.
She blinks several times, forcing the ghosts away so she can focus on the situation.
"One of the last survivors." She confirms, bites back the sickness it makes her feel in her gut, pushes down the walking nightmares following her.
Fucking focus.
While her fingers twitch with want to grip her pistol, hold a weapon in her hand, something solid to comfort her; she moves to pick up her sandwich, wrapping it back up and stuffing it back in her bag, like she's not on the edge of her fucking nerves and like her head isn't loaded with more bullshit than she can even totally comprehend at the moment.
"Where'd you get the tech?" She asks, doubtful she'll get an answer but wanting to acknowledge that, yeah, she's fairly sure that's Freelancer tech.