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Date Posted: 20:48:23 08/13/03 Wed
Author: Jiciri
Subject: ===
In reply to: Ezythas 's message, "-------" on 22:44:49 08/12/03 Tue

Jiciri's thoughts whirl around like irate byrgs trapped in a hollow 'neath a root, unable to escape. Slowly, with the raw methodical logic typical to whites, the young adult picks them apart, smashing the senseless ideas and organizing the rest. Her eyes, never her favorite sense, are neglected momentarily and glaze slightly, though Ezythas' grin is recorded in a somewhat hazy memory. She'd seen smiles so rarely, even as a cub frolicking with her siblings. Her mind listens so hard that, for a moment, the white fancies she can hear the murmur of other voices so far away... but no. A mirage of sorts. Another cough brings her out of her intense concentration, the tan's words finally registering in her head.

"Heal?" Jiciri snorts, an awkwardly rough sound. Then a sigh escapes a scar-twisted muzzle, blood-spattered and heavy. She finds herself trying to listen to her own voice as she speaks again. "Th... thank you, Ezythas." She stumbles over the unfamiliar word, unable to hear herself and see if she pronounced it correctly. Though her own voice falls upon deafened ears (or the lack thereof), she can feel the edged rumble in her throat and knows she sounds like diamen at this point. She'd never before been so concerned with hearing her own self speak until now.

An iron will forces her to forget the distraction of her own disability and to focus on the situation at hand. Dark eyes scanning the horizon, she growls raggedly. "Everyone is dead." A sniff is attempted, the white nearly choking as she remembers the dead tissue blocking her nasal passages. Resuming a half-hearted pant in order to breathe, she scowls. "I cannot smell either." Might as well tell her everything. A grey tailblade twitches, a tangled piece of flesh falling from the large natural-weapon with the movement; for a moment, Jiciri considers slicing her nose open in an effort to retrieve at least that sense.

"...dyone." Another cough, and the white feels fluid seep into her lungs. One dark eye closes, the other half-lids, and she lays down, powerful legs suddenly unable to support her six-foot bulk. "Give me..." a hacking noise, dry and painful, "...time." The white lets her marred head fall upon gory paws and though her eyes never close, darting left and right in a constant searching pattern, her mind is elsewhere. Enough of the internal damage is healed to let her function and survive, lungs draining in several more wracking coughs. Looking at the pint or so of life-fluid splashed onto her own paws, Jiciri jerks her head and rises unsteadily, trying to get away from the evidence of her own mortality. "Are any left alive?" Her voice is even drier and more crackling than before, a dark rumble underlying it. So much for the silvery-smooth baritone she had when uninjured. The greyish white stands on braced legs, gaze never resting for long, but detecting no motion in the immediate vicinity.

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Replies:

--- -- Ezythas, 10:58:33 08/23/03 Sat
- === -- Jiciri, 14:14:41 08/23/03 Sat
  - ... -- Ezythas, 21:56:23 08/25/03 Mon
    - === -- Jiciri, 17:05:57 08/26/03 Tue
      - Not as careless as she seems.. -- Ezythas, 23:09:51 09/24/03 Wed