Post by Amanda Young on May 17, 2021 23:01:53 GMT -6
Rest. It was all she wanted right now. So, so tired...
She knew it meant little-to-nothing in the realm anymore, she saw where (and how poorly, and perhaps that wasn't about the quality of where he slept but a number of other factors but... How poorly) Quentin slept. She had a bed, and it was warm. Or maybe she imagined that it was warm, maybe she wanted it to be warm. Did it matter anymore?
It was somewhere to put her head down, it was the same way that she viewed it in the first place. It was somewhere she kept supplies, and a place to sleep at night since she didn't have that on lock anymore. Anywhere John was, she had gone.
Everything was much different now. (For now.)
It was fine, though. She cracked her neck while she walked, relaxing her bones. Nothing was out of place, not that she noticed. Though, The Pig was in for a big surprise. Something she could never have begun to anticipate, especially being in the Fog for as long as she had. It was peaceful now, aside from the occasional trial.
She hated those, now. They used to give her a hit of adrenaline, something to feel.
She felt nothing again, completely empty once more, and there was no cure, no baptism that could be performed.
Maybe that's how life was, maybe this was the Entity's long con.
In front of her bed, there was a silhouette. That was out of place. It wasn't exactly at her bed, it was at one of the tables. Over it's arm there was a shoe sticking out — the damned puppet. She would recognize it anywhere, in life or death. Inescapable, just like the Entity loved.
That stupid fucking puppet would be her poster child if she could have it that way, Amanda was so sure of that.
It wasn't true, the puppet meant so little to other people — normal people, she reminded herself — yet she was so wrapped up in herself that she forgot that people here wouldn't understand the real meaning of it. Maybe they associated it with her, the thought of it made her skin crawl in it's own right.
"Hello? Who the fuck are you?" Amanda spoke up, making damn sure she was hard. She should have recognized him, too, especially in death. "What are you doing here? Don't you fucking know to steer clear of this place?"
The big, bad scary Pig. Ruthless, and uncaring. That was her own idea of herself, especially in trials. So few other places did she interact with people anymore.
Yet, things had been so peaceful until Amanda pulled, spinning the old man around, Billy clattering to the floor from his hands.
Her blood ran cold. She felt it like ice through her wrists. What was she to say here? John fucking Kramer?
If she was in Hell, this was the next layer. What had happened to lead to the Entity finding out about him? They died at the same fucking time, so why was he so late? Why was she made to suffer more than him?
How would he even fucking kill people? He didn't do that.
The thought of him being on the side of someone like Ash or Dwight didn't even begin to cross her mind!
Following the rush of cold, was a wave of nausea. He hadn't even spoken yet, and Amanda could already feel bile rising. The hold he had on her was only loosened by the Fog, she didn't feel freed from it in the slightest.
Fuck.
Fuck.
She stomped backwards, footsteps much heavier than intended. Amanda felt so heavy, something akin to being thrown into a pool with a weight four times her body mass.
Metaphorical years were spent in the fog, thinking about what she'd say to John, what she'd do to him if she ever saw him again. It was all thrown out the window with one action. Just him standing there, caressing Billy's face.
All of that, just gone. All those talks with Adam meant nothing now.
Adam... He couldn't know Jigsaw was here, she would do anything to protect him from John again.
Amanda failed him once, she couldn't let it happen again.
God, Tapp, too. Amanda kept her distance from the Detective, afraid of getting too close. Letting him behind her walls, and yet... She wanted to protect him, she felt it so deeply in her soul.
And yet. She knew she would be powerless to John Kramer once again, before his mouth even opened. She owed him her life, didn't she? What did that mean for being in a place where you couldn't fucking die?
Why?
She knew it meant little-to-nothing in the realm anymore, she saw where (and how poorly, and perhaps that wasn't about the quality of where he slept but a number of other factors but... How poorly) Quentin slept. She had a bed, and it was warm. Or maybe she imagined that it was warm, maybe she wanted it to be warm. Did it matter anymore?
It was somewhere to put her head down, it was the same way that she viewed it in the first place. It was somewhere she kept supplies, and a place to sleep at night since she didn't have that on lock anymore. Anywhere John was, she had gone.
Everything was much different now. (For now.)
It was fine, though. She cracked her neck while she walked, relaxing her bones. Nothing was out of place, not that she noticed. Though, The Pig was in for a big surprise. Something she could never have begun to anticipate, especially being in the Fog for as long as she had. It was peaceful now, aside from the occasional trial.
She hated those, now. They used to give her a hit of adrenaline, something to feel.
She felt nothing again, completely empty once more, and there was no cure, no baptism that could be performed.
Maybe that's how life was, maybe this was the Entity's long con.
In front of her bed, there was a silhouette. That was out of place. It wasn't exactly at her bed, it was at one of the tables. Over it's arm there was a shoe sticking out — the damned puppet. She would recognize it anywhere, in life or death. Inescapable, just like the Entity loved.
That stupid fucking puppet would be her poster child if she could have it that way, Amanda was so sure of that.
It wasn't true, the puppet meant so little to other people — normal people, she reminded herself — yet she was so wrapped up in herself that she forgot that people here wouldn't understand the real meaning of it. Maybe they associated it with her, the thought of it made her skin crawl in it's own right.
"Hello? Who the fuck are you?" Amanda spoke up, making damn sure she was hard. She should have recognized him, too, especially in death. "What are you doing here? Don't you fucking know to steer clear of this place?"
The big, bad scary Pig. Ruthless, and uncaring. That was her own idea of herself, especially in trials. So few other places did she interact with people anymore.
Yet, things had been so peaceful until Amanda pulled, spinning the old man around, Billy clattering to the floor from his hands.
Her blood ran cold. She felt it like ice through her wrists. What was she to say here? John fucking Kramer?
If she was in Hell, this was the next layer. What had happened to lead to the Entity finding out about him? They died at the same fucking time, so why was he so late? Why was she made to suffer more than him?
How would he even fucking kill people? He didn't do that.
The thought of him being on the side of someone like Ash or Dwight didn't even begin to cross her mind!
Following the rush of cold, was a wave of nausea. He hadn't even spoken yet, and Amanda could already feel bile rising. The hold he had on her was only loosened by the Fog, she didn't feel freed from it in the slightest.
Fuck.
Fuck.
She stomped backwards, footsteps much heavier than intended. Amanda felt so heavy, something akin to being thrown into a pool with a weight four times her body mass.
Metaphorical years were spent in the fog, thinking about what she'd say to John, what she'd do to him if she ever saw him again. It was all thrown out the window with one action. Just him standing there, caressing Billy's face.
All of that, just gone. All those talks with Adam meant nothing now.
Adam... He couldn't know Jigsaw was here, she would do anything to protect him from John again.
Amanda failed him once, she couldn't let it happen again.
God, Tapp, too. Amanda kept her distance from the Detective, afraid of getting too close. Letting him behind her walls, and yet... She wanted to protect him, she felt it so deeply in her soul.
And yet. She knew she would be powerless to John Kramer once again, before his mouth even opened. She owed him her life, didn't she? What did that mean for being in a place where you couldn't fucking die?
Why?
