08-20-2018, 07:51 AM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]“Don' ya tink fer one fuckin second I don' care,” there is no heat within words spoken through lips curled into a snarl, rather it is a chill beneath each syllable, spoken within a hush partly scraping past the cage of clenched teeth. It is hard to speak words of care when the one to whom she attempted to give them held little for her, who seemed so prepared to push her aside and ignore her until she held a use, replaced with no thought to what turmoil would touch one so young. Cold was the heat which curled within her stomach, an anger she held no experience within and vague was her terror towards such a feeling, yet to stop it seemed an idiotic move, stifling it surely only to lead to something worse later down the line.
There is an urge within her, a wanton desire to express each emotion she has left bottled deep within her, admit every thought which twisted about her skull, scraped nails along its interior until it seemed branded into each line of thought. But what words are there for one so young, who held so basic a structure of thought even she could make no sense of the things which cast doubt over a heart grown wary, seeking to understand yet coming up empty handed each time. Buried is each shred of pain, every moment she had been scorned – or at least what she had deemed as such for what good is the mind of a child beyond crafting tales – buried beneath pride.
Within her chest she can feel it, the thrum of each beat of a heart grown too fast, a beat which seemed to race, the paw which rose shaking slightly. Why had she spoken, allowed her anger to get to her within this place where all might see her, let the words of someone she held no care for provoke a response. Because she was angry, tired, and so, so scared. She was a little girl clinging to the only parent she had, a man who seemed half a stranger, made of cigar smoke and false smiles, uttering promises of something more, yet giving only fragments for it was all he could offer, diverging from his work only briefly. Pincher did his best with what he could, something with her knew that, sought to clutch at the thought and hold it tight, but it was sand between the fingers, slipping away all too quickly.
“O cors' I care,” I just don't have the words to say how much. Silence. Her voice trailed into silence and there were tears within a dark gaze as it was turned over her shoulder, touching upon Bakugou, seeing only him, yet the set to the mouth, the curl of lips to expose teeth in what might only be deemed a snarl of anger, it spoke a different story. She cared, nothing might ever change the fact she felt love for the man she called Captain and father, but to extend that to this moment, when she felt so alone, adrift in a world uncaring to her, it was hard to admit she felt anything at all when it seemed only fleeting moments, touches when her heart grew soft.
Would this feeling fade, her heart grow into stone towards him, until she was alone, too stubborn to swallow her pride?
Shuddering breath was drawn through her teeth, exhaled in a bitter laugh. “Ain ma fault he is a fuckin moron who ain' gonna listen.” It did not matter how many things she or any of the team told him, warnings of things to come if he didn't rest, he could keep going as he was prone to do, a man made for action not the ideal. There was nothing within Pincher which spoke of one willing to wait, allow his body time to heal, all too evident by his actions now, taking charge where another might take his place. It was the type of person he was and she could not fault him such for she was the same.
There is an urge within her, a wanton desire to express each emotion she has left bottled deep within her, admit every thought which twisted about her skull, scraped nails along its interior until it seemed branded into each line of thought. But what words are there for one so young, who held so basic a structure of thought even she could make no sense of the things which cast doubt over a heart grown wary, seeking to understand yet coming up empty handed each time. Buried is each shred of pain, every moment she had been scorned – or at least what she had deemed as such for what good is the mind of a child beyond crafting tales – buried beneath pride.
Within her chest she can feel it, the thrum of each beat of a heart grown too fast, a beat which seemed to race, the paw which rose shaking slightly. Why had she spoken, allowed her anger to get to her within this place where all might see her, let the words of someone she held no care for provoke a response. Because she was angry, tired, and so, so scared. She was a little girl clinging to the only parent she had, a man who seemed half a stranger, made of cigar smoke and false smiles, uttering promises of something more, yet giving only fragments for it was all he could offer, diverging from his work only briefly. Pincher did his best with what he could, something with her knew that, sought to clutch at the thought and hold it tight, but it was sand between the fingers, slipping away all too quickly.
“O cors' I care,” I just don't have the words to say how much. Silence. Her voice trailed into silence and there were tears within a dark gaze as it was turned over her shoulder, touching upon Bakugou, seeing only him, yet the set to the mouth, the curl of lips to expose teeth in what might only be deemed a snarl of anger, it spoke a different story. She cared, nothing might ever change the fact she felt love for the man she called Captain and father, but to extend that to this moment, when she felt so alone, adrift in a world uncaring to her, it was hard to admit she felt anything at all when it seemed only fleeting moments, touches when her heart grew soft.
Would this feeling fade, her heart grow into stone towards him, until she was alone, too stubborn to swallow her pride?
Shuddering breath was drawn through her teeth, exhaled in a bitter laugh. “Ain ma fault he is a fuckin moron who ain' gonna listen.” It did not matter how many things she or any of the team told him, warnings of things to come if he didn't rest, he could keep going as he was prone to do, a man made for action not the ideal. There was nothing within Pincher which spoke of one willing to wait, allow his body time to heal, all too evident by his actions now, taking charge where another might take his place. It was the type of person he was and she could not fault him such for she was the same.