[shadow=black,left]PAOLA VASQUEZ[/shadow]
[table][tr][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][td][/td][/tr][/table]Rage is a foreign concept to Paola—or, at least, as foreign as her mind would allow her. She cannot recall a moment in her life when she had been filled with such violent wrath, although that might also be because she cannot recall much of her memories. Grief, terror, loneliness, joy, she’s experienced in multitudes, caught in their restless tides, but rage? The last time she had come close, as far as she can remember, had been when the loners had turned on her, sought to take what she possessed, but even then it had been less a fiery rage and more a rumbling defiance.
No matter how hard she tries to reach further for a memory to grasp, she finds nothing except a sharp, stabbing pain to her head, a warning not to go any further. Tendrils of her consciousness recoil in abrupt agony, receding only when she decides not to push. She cannot remember ever being angry. She cannot remember anything.
Worse still, she doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
She makes her approach, unusially subdued as she finds a quiet spot a little further from the crowd and on the bare sand. She notes that Eulia, Georgia, and their very own Captain have come to keep Trygve company—she also notes that the three are ultimately closer to him than she is, and she decides to keep her distance, just in case the little gathering is for “family and friends only” and she simply happened to miss the memo. The last thing she wants is to overstay her welcome, and despite her brash nature, she’s not stupid enough to try and test it.
Paola hears Georgia’s question, and her jaws part to crack a joke, but then she remembers where she is and who she’s with and she snaps her mouth shut anyway, realizing she’d rather not ruin the moment with her self-aware dumbassery. Instead, the teenager curls up on the sand and watches, tucking both paws underneath her chest to get comfortable but keeping herself aware of her surroundings. She would leave if they ask her to.
[table][tr][td]No matter how hard she tries to reach further for a memory to grasp, she finds nothing except a sharp, stabbing pain to her head, a warning not to go any further. Tendrils of her consciousness recoil in abrupt agony, receding only when she decides not to push. She cannot remember ever being angry. She cannot remember anything.
Worse still, she doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
She makes her approach, unusially subdued as she finds a quiet spot a little further from the crowd and on the bare sand. She notes that Eulia, Georgia, and their very own Captain have come to keep Trygve company—she also notes that the three are ultimately closer to him than she is, and she decides to keep her distance, just in case the little gathering is for “family and friends only” and she simply happened to miss the memo. The last thing she wants is to overstay her welcome, and despite her brash nature, she’s not stupid enough to try and test it.
Paola hears Georgia’s question, and her jaws part to crack a joke, but then she remembers where she is and who she’s with and she snaps her mouth shut anyway, realizing she’d rather not ruin the moment with her self-aware dumbassery. Instead, the teenager curls up on the sand and watches, tucking both paws underneath her chest to get comfortable but keeping herself aware of her surroundings. She would leave if they ask her to.
10 MOONS
[/td][td]BETA
[/td][td]TYPHOON
[/td][td]SHE/HER
[/td][td]© AUDACITY
[/td][/tr][/table] BABY'S GOT A FACE LIKE THUNDER: