or: i belong nowhere.

eva euna rhie. 35. soldier.

[evarhie]

D O S S I E R  ||   P I N T E R E S T  ||   T A S K S  ||   V I S A G E  ||  M U S I N G S 

[evarhie]

zahramorales​:

So what’s the plan now, boss? This time Zahra doesn’t fight it and rolls her eyes. “First, you’re going to be quiet so I can get those three off our backs.” She nods in the direction of the silhouettes. Pulling out her radio, she calls for one of the new enforcers. When he answers, she tells him that no, everything’s fine, just some animal knocking shit over and no, I’ve got clean-up covered, go finish the rounds and send some soldiers on break. His reply sounds hesitant but he agrees, and a few moments later the three figures move away from the pharmacy doors. 

Zahra lets out a breath of relief and turns back to the other problem at hand. “Okay, first mistake was not having the patrol schedule, but like you said, we’ll call it an oversight. Second mistake was trying to go for the back door. It’s convenient, sure, but unless you know what you’re doing, it’s really fucking easy to get caught.” She walks past Eva, staying along the edge of the store, where the shadows are darkest. Zahra glances over her shoulder, making sure Eva follows. Her eyes scan the shelves as they walk past, trying to imagine what it looked like before the infected, before FEDRA and Alexei. It’s always difficult and she’s sure her pictures are always a little off, having never experienced any of it. She can’t think of a world where the illnesses to worry about it can be cured with a pill, where it ends with the sick getting better instead of executed.

“There’s another door behind the pharmacy counter,” she explains when they reach it. Zahra gives one last look to make sure nobody’s looking through the front window, then hops over the counter and keeps going. “Leads to a tunnel behind a bunch of the stores. Must’ve been used for deliveries or moving people around, I guess, but no one goes in there anymore. There’s usually a soldier posted outside the external entrance, but again, it wouldn’t be a problem if you knew the schedule.” She yanks the door open, wincing as the aged hinges squeak against each other. They’re going to have to start oiling all of their escape doors if they want to keep going unnoticed. “After you,” Zahra says, gesturing from Eva towards the door.

eva stands silent against the wall as she listens to zahra radio away the other enforcers. she moves silently, following zahra up and around to where the counters are. brows furrowing at the squeaking groan of the door, there’s a twin mirror of an expression to the one zahra holds on her own face. eva looks at her for just a moment longer before ducking into the tunnel. one hand holding the pack of pills secure, the other reaches for a flashlight she keeps tucked into the utility belt at her waist, thumbing it on as she flashes it forward. darkness will cover them when the door shuts, and eva would prefer to be able to retain their line of sight. 

“is this fine or do you have some problem with me turning on a flashlight in here too?” eva asks, turning to grin at zahra to convey her mostly harmless jab at zahra’s annoyance.

she walks forward, following the cut of the tunnel. she sees an upcoming bend, though most of it is relatively a straight shot. there’s a quiet echo of their footsteps as they walk, and eva keeps her voice low as she continues to make conversation. “can’t help but feel like you’re holding a grudge on the whole ‘not knowing the schedule’ thing, zahra.” she speaks, one foot in front of the other as she walks. “--and for me not knowing a secret tunnel in a qz i came to just about a year ago. while...sneaking around for a rebellion i was enlisted in two days ago.” lips pursing, her tone is still light, conversational because the rest of their mission here seems queued to be pretty uneventful outside of her nearly being made just moments ago. “seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?” eva quips in a tone that is just a step above deadpan.

for zahra to know this tunnel would mean she’d have used it in however many years she’d been here at base. maybe the rebellion was gathering more numbers now, but eva knew what survival looked like in bases like these. it had been the same in salt lake, the grass roots efforts had been rooted far before full civil war broke out. teasing aside, she is more serious when she turns back to zahra again. “--how long have you guys been using these tunnels for this kind of work?” 

it’s evident eva doesn’t mean this rebellion, since its genesis in this form is far too fresh. no, here eva asks -- how long have you been taking care of your own while he refuses to?

[evarhie]

daiyus​:

when — 10 july where — abandoned residence who — @evarhie​

She despises the fight club that convenes in this QZ, the spectacle people are willing to make out of violence. And sure, violence is an inherent part of her, an inherent part of existence in this world — but to make performance out of it? To bet rations onto it? To make people watch, not to learn or grow wary, but to laugh? She does not get it. What she does get, however, is the willingness to tap into rage. The itch of fists and the need to let them go, every now and then. To feel control through violence. To lose control, in it.

A surprising development is the combination of this want and her role in it. Eva Rhie, aggravator, presser of bruises and, as it turns out, a similar spirit. Something that needs unleashing. So that’s what they do, what they’ve just finished doing. She’s still panting slightly as she passes the other a piece of cloth. “You’re gonna drip all over that fancy couch,” Daiyu says, gesturing at Eva’s bleeding nose. Violence has consequence, but in this case the fallout is limited. In this case, it comes with something in return and no grudges kept.

She lets herself fall onto a chair, rather than next to Eva on the couch, and makes work of her hair. The hairtie she’s using is coming undone – fucking pain in the ass, really – and the past half hour of sparring have made a chaos of her braid. “That was good, what you did. With the kick. I’m gonna steal that move.” There’s a mild grin, her gaze flicking up for a second. “Use it against ya next time.”

there’s a huff of breath that pushes out of her as eva lets herself fall onto the ratty couch, body beginning to hold aches in all the places she knows she’ll be sore in come the following days. it’s funny how a day turns; she’d started today off baking a cake, of all things. the normalcy of it had been jarring in the most enticing way. she’d felt giddy with it, perhaps, the excuse to do something she no longer had the time or will to do. it had felt easier to garner up enough of both when she got to do it for someone else. and that frivolous normalcy, the joy of seeing ophelia’s face after it, the mundanity of the routine that had followed -- all of it had bled right back into here. the abandoned house, daiyu, violence as an answer.

it wasn’t something eva kept secret on purpose, but it was willful, purposeful omission, what they did here. with the kind of vehement opposition she took to fight club, this felt like something that was too akin to justify. but it wasn’t -- and that made all the difference, didn’t it? 

a laugh escaped her, a short, tired thing, as she leaned over to accept the cloth daiyu passed to her. folding it up round between her fingers, eva pressed it to her nose, tilting her head back to let it rest against the back of the couch as she stemmed the blood from dripping everywhere.

they had, perhaps, started this all under different circumstances. who eva had been then felt so distant from her now in a way that scared her some. to know that she could take such distance between versions of herself while being otherwise untouched, unfettered. eva had been angry then, looking for a home for it. daiyu had a family name that made that all too easy, a fire that burned back. take it as some form of release. honest fare, really. 

daiyu speaks again, and eva adjusts her head so she can look at her instead of the ceiling. she grins at daiyu’s words, accepts the compliment willingly. that’s a new occurrence too. they didn’t exchange much as many words, before. maybe it had been easier to pretend the anger directed at daiyu was fair, before. “as long as you promise a good fight.” she starts, adjusts and sits up a little straighter. 

“--picked that one up from nele.” eva adds, even as she had almost decided to let the silence sit for longer. “i’ve been training with her.” she hasn’t shared that tidbit of knowledge otherwise because there hasn’t been a need to. her business is hers, and what she does with her spare time is too. but the time they have here is nebulous, tucked away somewhere with the bleeding tension releasing from her shoulders, lost in between the witching and waxing hour where no words they share seem permanent. there’s a freedom in what this space offers to them where eva can be honest. why not say whatever the hell comes to mind? 

she adjusts again, trying to get comfortable against the ache in her ribs that she knows is going to carry satisfyingly. “i’m shit outta luck in a fight without my knives -- so i’ve been volunteering to get my ass kicked, i guess.” eva adds, talking to talk. 

[evarhie]

felixsinclair​:

who: @evarhie​

where: an old picnic table outside the hotel

when: 13 July 2044

The plans that his parents have let him in on sit at the back of Felix’s mind not only with a fledgling sense of purpose, but also with an unexpected sense of nostalgia that harks back to the days in Boston, many years ago now. It’s different this time around, where Mara and Teddy’s acts of rebellion had once simply just occurred around him, a fact that he didn’t hold against them in the slightest. Children shouldn’t be instruments of rebellion, certainly not Alexei Volkov’s vision of Idaho Falls. This time around though, Felix was no longer a child, and capable of more than being his parent’s little shadow. 

He trudged along a small footpath that wove along the edges of a plot that had once held carefully tended produce. The storm from several weeks prior had all but obliterated it all, save for a few stubborn sprouts here and there. There was an old picnic table under the shade of a tree, and in the heat of summer, being outside was something that Felix found much preferable to the muggy interior of the hotel that was still somewhat waterlogged with stubborn moisture. Sure, being inside was somewhat more sheltered from the direct heat of the sun, but he’d take it over the humidity–and hey, maybe he’d get lucky enough with a gentle breeze at some point. 

The table he had in mind, however, already had the presence of another person. Thankfully, however, it was someone he recognized and shared a number of patrols with. 

“Eva–hey,” he called out with a friendly smile as soon as he was in earshot. “Mind if I join you?” He held up the old grain sack he’d lugged along, stuffed full with a collection of long, slender sticks he’d gathered over last couple rotations on patrol, “You’ll get to see what I plan on doing with all these sticks I’ve been madly collecting the last few days.” The events at the mall had just about wiped out his supply of arrows, and he didn’t want to be caught without should another unexpected Situation occur.

as always does, after the unthinkable happens -- life keeps on going. the zone picks up its broken pieces and patches at its bleeding wounds and slowly, painfully slowly, returns to shadows of normalcy. 

like here, under the beating sun, eva has a crate of uncapped jam jars that need packing. it’s a fresh set from the most recent harvest, a combination of berry and apricot and even a few of sour grapes; glass jars that she’s working on covering with mismatched lids, and for when she runs out of lids, with slips of jute and twine to top it off. it’s a mindless task, really -- a peaceful one. she’d decided to take the whole crate of it and set herself down on the picnic table outside the hotel, where she could soak up the sun as she worked. 

the silence has kept her company, but she’s glad for the break from it as a familiar voice calls to her. head perking up -- she spots felix as he approaches. she waves in response, hand coming up to settle over her eyes, shield them from the bright sun. “hey felix,” she calls in greeting, shaking her head at his question as she pats the flat of the table in front of her. “--c’mon up.”

she turns, picking at another jar and reaching for another lid she thinks will fit it, before settling her gaze back on the feix and the sack her carries. her smile ticks up just a touch, something amused in it. “well someone’s got a hoarding problem.” she jokes, briefly.

nimble fingers capping another jar as she places it back in the other side of the crate along with the rest she’s worked through. gaze lifting to meet his again, she asks. “--what’re you up to?”

[evarhie]

10th july. back room in the med bay. with @kinderdays​

it had been an undertaking of many layers. it had required tracking down lilibeth who mostly worked sundays at the med bay and plying her with the small batch of sour grapes they’d manage to grow long enough to fruit, to get her to let eva know that ophelia would indeed be working this sunday. it seemed much like her to not take her birthday off. eva supposed, there wasn’t much time to take off at all. not with everything going on now, not with everything that was always going on. 

but that alone, had just been one part of her plan. the other had required a harvesting of berries and will’s help in the greenhouse that came in the form of carving out the time and space for eva to bake the cake that was cased carefully in the metal tin in her hands, now. the jam from the slew of berries they had picked just a few days ago was fresh, holding together the layers of the birthday cake. eva was not a baker by trade -- but samar had been. the labor of love of making this for ophelia had come bearing the weight of memories that were too fond to sour, but still hard to swallow. it was a ghostly feeling, doing something she hadn’t done since losing him. it was like she could feel the shadow touch of his presence, telling her to sprinkle just a touch more here even if the recipe didn’t call for it. but doesn’t it feel right? it has to feel right too. he’d say, and eva would be too busy drinking in that all too sweet smile to pass a judgment on the the task at hand at all. 

there had been something healing in making this cake, perhaps. the derivative love; her hands shaping what samar had taught them to, just so someone she held dear now could have something special on her birthday. no love, ever wasted.

and now, the final clip of the plan falling into place. eva weaving her way into the back room of the med bay where people took their breaks just as the clock struck 12:20 -- just when lilbeth had told her to. the metal tin with the cake balanced carefully on one palm and the small glass bottle with the -- what could only best be called mixed berry juice -- enclosed in her other. she spotted the blonde of ophelia’s hair in the corner, near the biggest window of the room and continued making her way over. 

“hi you,” eva greeted. something bright in the beam of her smile. “through means i cannot disclose, i may have convinced lilibeth to give you an hour for break instead of the twenty.” eva stated, carefully setting her offerings on the small table between them before looking around to pull a stool so she could take a seat across from ophelia. “i know it’s the end of the world and all, but it seemed criminal to not let you have even just that on your birthday.” 

now seated, eva’s smile settled as she nodded to the dishes between them. “--happy birthday, opie.”

[evarhie]

1st july. storage room within the mall. with @orquidaeas​

eva knows a day has passed because the sun has set and come back up again, even if she hadn’t slept through the night. when she blinks, she’s back there in the chaos of it all: stepping into a fight that isn’t hers, between two people she can’t fathom losing. it wasn’t about her, not at all; but eva is selfish, not ready to lose anyone else she cares about. she knows when the final debris from this disaster will clear, there will be that unfathomable loss to face, still. but for a moment, she had been able to rest knowing that roll call wouldn’t include gil or suri’s name. 

the peace of that thought hadn’t lasted. she had gone looking for him in the aftermath. she hadn’t found him in any of the places she knew to look, and she knew of plenty when it came to gilbert. with every dead end, she had grown more panicked, haunted by the thoughts of all that could’ve gone wrong in the moments after that ambush, the stretch of time unaccounted for. she’d finally figured it out by overhearing some kid on patrol. they shackled orquídeas, poor shit got himself infected, they're gonna wait the forty-eight hours to confirm. her stomach had fallen somewhere by her feet at those words and had yet to find its way back. it had been quick work after that. another ambush, the simple question. where? where is he? where are they keeping him? when words hadn’t been enough, the threat of a blade to the neck had been. she didn’t stick around long enough to figure out if he thought she’d actually do it, push the blade in for not telling her what she wanted to know. eva hadn’t entertained the thought long enough to ask herself that either. 

breaking in wasn’t easy, but it was possible. everyone was tired, there was too much shit to do. one unaccounted body was nothing when there were so many more. when she shuts the door behind her, she doesn’t even bother to be quiet about it. she’s delirious with the days past, maybe delirious with the sight in front of her. because haven’t they been here before? in another time, another place -- but here. right here. 

“gil.” she says, starts with that because she doesn’t know what else to start with. she’s playing a game of make believe with herself here, bartering with the gods again in ways she’s done in vain before. but it wouldn’t be in vain this time. it wouldn’t. that just wasn’t an option. 

when she reaches him, her hands grasp at where his are cuffed to the metal pipes behind him. she doesn’t know what to reach for, what to do. she had helped him then, back at camp, in whatever meager way she could. how does she do that here? how does she do that now?

“fuck you.” she says, and it’s a threadbare thing, no heat to it at all. “fuck you, you scared me. where the hell did you go?” her voice is thin, all its might going into holding back her own delirium, her own panic that tastes vile at the back of her throat. “this is stupid. they don’t -- stupid. you’re fine. you don’t need to be locked up, you’re going to be fine.” the weight with which she says it should be familiar enough. bull headed eva, stubborn eva. she doesn’t know who she’s fighting to convince here, herself or gil. 

[evarhie]

henriklarsen​:

—  🏹  —

This was the exact reason communities like Idaho Falls weren’t ever meant to last. The quarters were too close, confined, tight - and within those borders infection spread like wildfire. It only took one spark.

The faces of friend and foe blend as runners overtake the patrol. He’s lucky, maybe, to have a gun in his hands with which to fend off the on coming horde of them. But the numbers are confused between those fleeing the chaos and bringing it. Already the zone has such few numbers compared to what the world once boasted, fewer casualties the better - but Henrik isn’t overtly choosy. Stopping the spread was key to surviving this night, after all.

He doesn’t see it when one comes crashing through from the side, knocking the gun from his hand and dragging him down to the ground with an inhumane scream of sorts. He manages to get one hand pressed up against it’s chest (easier, that way, to think of them as others and not people who had been living alongside them only hours before) to keep the biting teeth away. It takes time, too much time, to get the proper leverage on the creature, to twist the bones in the neck in such a way as to cut off any semblance of life that might be left. By the time he’s disposed of one there are so many more still coming, and he’s at a disadvantage being off his feet.

Grabbing for the gun once more he gets a couple shots off before it clicks, useless without bullets in the chamber. Another he wrestles away from before producing a knife to dispose of it fully. When Eva’s voice calls out over the mayhem, duck!, there is no reason not to follow the command, sliding further to the floor just as a blade skates through the air where he’d been a second prior. The thunk as it finds home is too close, hungry teeth that had been aiming for flesh, his, still near as he rolls out of the way and she finishes the job. 

He watches her for just a moment, caught off guard that she’d thrown herself in the midst of it to save his ass, before rolling back over to push himself up from the floor. “Yeah - fine.” He was getting too fucking old for this shit.

Wiping blood from his hands and cleaning the blade of his knife, he takes inventory of their surroundings. There are bodies scattered in their wake. Given the screams echoing down the hallways, those numbers may only be moments away from increasing. “That way,” he gestures in the direction opposite of where the noise seems to be coming from, though their echoing surroundings could distort. Starting off in the direction he’d indicated without much further preamble he only pauses a moment to look back in her direction. “You good?”

it makes sense, of course, to run away from the curdling screams that will only be followed by the infected. eva knows that even though they may have been neighbors sheer hours ago, whoever they knew them to be are long gone now. and still, there is the ache in her bones. and still, there is the catch of her breath. because eva’s been here before -- in memory or in nightmare. she supposes it’s not the same. appa had still been human when she had left. ( and she had left, she had left, she had left -- ) she hadn’t seen how the infection had taken him. her mother hadn’t let her, samar hadn’t let her. it’s not the same, says the part of her that clings to survival now like habit, holds on with nails gripped in until they break. but it is -- isn’t it? it is, and she’ll take the shame of that to her grave.

she hears his words; they snap her out of it, even if it’s only been a few moments, a few seconds. eva was already on her feet, stood still -- but she rips her gaze away from down that side of the hall and forces her steps to follow. “yeah.” she says, short. she doesn’t look at him for longer than she needs to, a surveying glance to make sure he seems relatively unscathed, free of scratches, cuts. “yeah -- i’m good.” she adds, her steps taking into something faster, until they’re running down the hallway. 

from there, it’s part instinct and part practice. she stays close behind henrik, watches their six. as they move, careful but quick, her eyes stay glued to the bent corners they navigate. so much so, she doesn’t see the tossed weapon she stumbles on. eva straightens quick, recovers as she bends down to pick up the axe. it’s broken, the blade snapped -- but the edge it leaves behind is jagged enough to still be able to do some damage. eva tilts her head with the consideration of it -- better than nothing -- and keeps walking. when the silence has followed them long enough, her eyes flit to the back of henrik. 

“all clear up there?” she asks, not seeing what he can. “we need to get out of here -- see if there are any others we can find on the way and get the hell out of here.”

[evarhie]

zahramorales​:

The worst part, Zahra’s decided, is acting as though everything is normal. Nothing about Idaho Falls is normal anymore. Everything is one wrong move from falling apart, everyone tensed and ready to snap at a moment’s notice. And yet they carry on, as if nothing has happened, as if things will return to normal once more. Zahra isn’t sure there’s a normal to return to, suspicions only confirmed by her talk with Mara and the start of this… rebellion doesn’t feel like the right word, but maybe it is. They aren’t keeping themselves in line with Alexei’s orders, at the very least.

But they still have to act as though everything is normal. Zahra walks through the mall, checking on the soldiers stationed at the various entrances and exits, supposedly showing two newly promoted enforcers what to do when charged with a patrol. She and the newbies stop to check on another soldier when they point out a flicker of movement through the darkened windows of the pharmacy. It’s a fight not to roll her eyes and curse out loud— did nobody know the new patrol rotation yet? If this was how their little rebellion is starting, there’s no way they’re going to be much help to anybody. 

Zahra tells everyone to stay put, that she’ll check it out and report over the radio if she needs back up. The newbies look ready to protest, itching for a fight at the first sign of something interesting happening, but she slips into the pharmacy before they can say a word. Her steps are louder than normal, covering up any extra noise as she makes her way to the back of the store; if this is what she thinks it is, she knows where they’ll be headed. 

She doesn’t flinch when Eva appears, though an eyebrow quirks as her gaze lands on the hand hovering over her knives. “Yeah, you’re lucky it’s just me,” Zahra says. “I’ve got two other enforcers and a soldier right across the hall— didn’t anybody tell you the rotation schedule?” She reaches for Eva’s arm to stop her moving and drawing any more attention. “Can you be still for like, two seconds? You’re clearly not doing a great job of going unnoticed.” Her eyes flick back to the entrance, where she can swear three silhouettes are gathered in waiting.

for the briefest, fleeting moment -- eva can imagine how it would turn out. it would be an ambush, surely. a few more steps into the light, enough for them to see her face. enough to bind zahra into falling into the role she plays for the base, not for the rebellion. she’d have to turn her in. they wouldn’t kill her then and there, but they’d punish her for it. she wonders if the retribution would do anything to ease the heavy anvil of guilt that’s become one with the rest of her. hell knows nothing else had. 

the vision of it is gone as soon as it comes. all the while, eva doesn’t move from where zahra stops her. she can fantasize about it, if that’s what she wants to sanitize her guilt into needing; but that’s as far as it can get, as far as she’ll let it. there was a rebellion to tend to, now. 

“clearly not.” she says in response to zahra’s question about the enforcer rotation, words light for how close she’d come to being made. “i want to say it’s too early for sabotage within our ranks, so let’s call it an oversight.” she adds, something in lieu of a joke as she steps back behind the wall -- gaze still set on the silhouettes beyond, trying to make out who they were and what odds they held of being nosy enough to come snooping.

zahra’s critique breezes right past eva’s shoulders, unbothered. eva doesn’t take it personal because it rarely is. besides, now they have a bigger problem on their hands, don’t they? “so what’s the plan now, boss?” she asks -- and generous as she is by being unbothered by zahra’s nitpicking, eva doesn’t spare the sarcasm that colors just the edges of her words now. it’s as harmless as it is light. “these pills still need delivering. rafael might start to think something’s gone wrong if i don’t show up within the hour like i’m supposed to.”

[evarhie]

15th july. the pharmacy. with @zahramorales

it had been a fortnite since the attack of the purged, if you could even call it that. the number of deaths caused by the actions of a single mad man, it was hard to fathom. nothing had been the same, since. there had been a tension in the air well before it, something that made her breath catch on it, choke awake with it. but after outbreak and the quarantine that followed, idaho falls was barely the qz she'd sought refuge to those few years ago. sometimes eva wondered if it was still recognizable to those that had called it home for longer.

she works in relative quietness and the cover of dark. it's methodical -- she's done this enough times here and in the salt lake city qz that she’d once called home, to know exactly how much to take ( -- just as much as lily had said to, the carefully placed bottles tucked under the cabinet counters, the few more under the sink that no longer worked ) and where to deliver it ( to the drop off point by the west side of the airport, where rafael would pick it up ) to allow the supplies to pass hands until they reached those who needed them most. she makes quick work of it too, the sack under her arm holding what she was penciled in to get. once she's sure she has it all, she folds it up and tucks it tighter in her grip.

then, eva moves. quiet footsteps keep her to the darker corners of the store where the emergency lights sweeping through what used to be the pharmacy's glass doors, don't reach her. she's almost to the exit when she hears the footsteps; quick, sure. eva tucks herself back into the corner she had just rounded, chin held high as she waited for the approaching footsteps. her free hand reaches for where her blades, the collection of them, sit on her belt. when the footsteps are just close enough, she steps out again -- light, hands flexed on the weapon she doesn't end up needing to draw after all.

"oh." she says, coming face to face with zahra. "it's just you." she offers in what can be taken as warm a greeting as any. "--thought i was going to see a little action." eva continues, now in lighter jest as she sidesteps her and continues moving towards the exit she had been nearing.

[evarhie]

30th june. the mall. with @henriklarsen​

the rifle in her hand doesn’t do great work in close range like this, but eva makes do anyways. she points, aims -- shoots. the bullet lands messily, blows through the flesh of the shoulder where it would come to rot. she cocks it again, jaw working as she continues to move closer step by step. there's a blur of a body pushing past her, she falters, straightens, and -- fires. this time, the bullet takes the side of the face and the mangling of the fungus that has started to grow on it.

her arms have just started to lower, the distant screaming zoning back into her focus as she makes to step closer some more. she doesn't get far though, a body slamming into her and taking her down. her side meets the ground hard, the weapon clattering off to her side as dirtied hands claw at her, garbled screaming in her face. blood pounds in her chest and the screaming narrows to a silent, a sharp keening whistle in her ear as eva, by sheer instinct, reaches for the blade strapped to her waist and stabs. she doesn't aim -- it's not strategic, how she moves, a loud exclamation of her own pushing past her lips as she pushes the blade in and out, in and out, in and out. the body drops, and she pushes it off her.

the ceiling is spinning above her, the keening in her ear pounds into something quieter as she exhales in what feels like slow motion and pushes herself up; the world spinning back into sharp focus, real time.

gaze seeking where she'd seen henrik last, seen the runner's body drop last -- eva spots him, sitting up just a few paces from her. eva moves, makes to get up. she needs to find cover, they need to find cover ( they, all that are not runners, here ).

she's pushing onto her knees, a hand flat on the floor to support her weight as she pushes up and makes to move in his direction. it's only for a split moment that her gaze flits up behind him, beyond him. it happens fast, other hand still gripping the bloodied blade tight. "duck!" she screams, doesn't wait to see if he listens, and launches her arm back to fling the blade in a precise, practiced throw. it flies, buries deep into the runner's chest. she's on it -- him? -- before he can recover, wrenching the blade free before pulling her hand back and burying it to the hilt into the soft give of the neck's flesh.

when the body stills, eva lets her weight drop back onto her heels, taking just the moment to catch her breath. she turns, eyes landing on henrik as he sits next to her. "you alright?" a pause, she reaches back to pull out the blade from the body, wiping it blindly on the fabric of her pants. "--we need to move."

[evarhie]

mattyalston​:

He doesn’t know what to say to Eva, anymore. She’d helped him find his words, talk about his family. Now he’s more unmoored than ever. As soon as he thinks he’s back on track, someone else pulls the rug straight out from under him. Just goes to show. He can only rely on himself, really. He works quietly. It’s familiar, reassuring. Keeping his hands full and his mind occupied, pulling himself back from the edge of a deep, dark, pit. Stack debris, load it into the wheelbarrow, rinse and repeat. He stops, stares at her. What? There’s nothing else to say. He pleaded with them at the school, and they didn’t listen. Anyone could come around the corner at any time and overhear. It’s not safe to do this here. Fuck it, it wasn’t safe to do it there. Which she knows. She doesn’t know he brought it up with Daiyu, and she’s better off not knowing that. “No, but I guess you’re going to anyway.”

this isn’t a foreign feeling to eva, not wholly. she’s always started just like this -- a stranger. always a foreigner in the four walls she’s had to make practice of making into homes. it had felt like this in salt lake city, too. to pledg herself to fight, to want more or better -- it had always needed justification, needed payment in blood. this isn’t your home, not like it is mine. it doesn’t matter what you want. 

what she’s wanted, what she’s thought as right, hasn’t always held it’s worth in weight the way it has for those she’s stood beside and against. those who’ve called the places of her memories home for longer than she’d ever gotten a chance to. in the before, she’d fought tooth and nail for her place on the frontlines because she’d had something to fight for: a future for her and samar, for her family, for his. but now...now? 

it was her own lack and the acute awareness of it that had frozen eva in time ever since she’d arrived at idaho. she had been all but immobilized by her grief, shrouded by her own stillness. time, however, was a patient and unforgiving balm to her wounds. time had shown her that maybe now, in her lack, she had the best semblance to fight. now, with nothing to lose, why shouldn’t she go out swinging? 

she sighs at his response, exasperated. dropping the debris clasped in her hands, the piece of it clunks to the ground -- heavy. “what -- you want to ignore it? pretend like the conversation didn’t happen?”

“this, all this--” tongue stumbling over the flatness of her words, an attempt at keeping some vagueness to talks of revolution since they were in open air. “it’s happening, matty. it’s already happening and it’s going to keep happening. pretending like it’s not isn’t going to do us any good.” the use of us is generous, here -- eva means you. it isn’t going to do matty any good. she’s already clear on where she stands. 

her eyes stay on him, watching him carefully -- her frustration clear in the way her brows are threaded. but she shuffles, her expression softening, as she lets out another sigh. “it’s not personal, matty.” she says. and it could be patronizing, but it isn’t -- there’s an earnestness to her words. she understands something of it, of the fact that there’s an alston legacy tied by blood to alexei and what he’s built. but that’s just it; there is blood between the walls holding the zone up and it needs cleansing. “just -- think about it. think about what we’re saying. objectively. outside of what you think you have to defend. you’re telling me you don’t agree with any of it? with any of this?”

[screenshotsofdespair]

[wearepaladin]

[sch-uwu-lchen]

[evarhie]

29th may. the gardens. with @jesseshaws​

the sun is at its highest now, beating down on her. the sweat beading on her brow feels nice. the soil feels warm under her knees, the solid feel of the ground under her and the dirt on her palms comes as a welcome change from the routine of what her days have looked like since the storm. 

today’s the first day since the night of the storm that eva’s been able to come back to the gardens. with the rescue mission and added clean-up duties, she hadn’t had the time to come help with the damage the harvesting patches took. she wasn’t queued up for a patrol until later tonight. it had meant she’d been able to spend all morning helping replant what had been uprooted, attempt to salvage what they could of the exposed crops. 

the hours had bled into each other, time slipping from her as it tended to, here. she’d told maria to come get her by sundown if eva didn’t find her own way back by then. she’d need the few hours to clean-up and get ready for the long night of patrolling. but here, now -- she could spend her time clearing her head and the gardens alike. 

she hears the footsteps as they approach her, attention clocking when the footfall doesn’t match up to the familiar gait of those that typically man the gardens. she turns to look at the approaching stranger, a hand coming up to shield her gaze from the brightness of the sun.

“hi” she says in greeting, setting a knee down to pause. “--did maria send you?” she says, the raised hand moving to point at the few sacks laid out to her side. “i’ve collected what i could of the salvageable harvest in there. still got a ways to go here, though -- could let her know it might take the evening.”

[evarhie]

9th june. clean up by the mall. with @mattyalston​

they’ve been working in a silence that’s uncomfortable solely for the fact that it’s between them. there’s plenty to be done, plenty to keep the hands busy and feet moving -- but the unsaid hands between them; ugly, obvious. 

eva jostles the wheelbarrow, kicks it with her foot to get it moving. there’s piles upon piles of debris stacked in there and plenty still to clear from the wreckage of the storm. it had done a number on the infrastructure of the base, destroyed what had needed tending to. eva could imagine the clean-up duty would last weeks to come.

she reaches the other side of the path they’ve cleared around the wreckage, lets the body of the wheelbarrow drop and brushes her hands off. hands placed on waist, she eyes the pile ahead of her and then turns to eye matty to the side where he makes his own work. 

a breath escapes her, short -- pointed. eva levels her chin, raises it as she addresses him. “alright, out with it. are we going to talk about what happened at the school?”

[evarhie]

kinderdays​:

eva’s response is one she expected.  it’s what most people said in the falls when asked how they are.  fine, okay, same as always.  it had been a long time since she heard someone say good or great in response to her question.  though there had always been terror and destruction around her, she still remembers having a happy childhood nonetheless.  she wonders when exactly she lost that joy.  when the falls started seeming a little more grey and a little less colorful with imagination and play.  maybe she simply started to see the zone for what it really is.  “good, i’m glad.  i was so worried about everyone.”  though surrounded by others in the basement of the hotel, there were so many faces she couldn’t see.  so many people out there, out of reach.  eva was one of them.  

“oh gosh, i know,” ophelia says with a smile, looking down at her large belly, a hand patting it gently.  “i’m going on almost seven months soon, getting close,” she tries not to sound too scared as she says it, and slowly lowers herself to the ground next to eva to begin her harvesting.  her mother had told her of a machine that could allow doctors to see the baby’s progress and even predict a due date.  the could see the fetus right through the mother’s skin.  she showed ophelia pictures from an old textbook.  that night, tucked in bed staring at the images, reading the pages over and over- opie cried, wondering what this would all be like in another time.  “it feels a bit more real every day.  it’s terrifying but wonderful.  i mean, my back aches and my ankles are swollen and i miss hot baths terribly but then little one will get the hiccups or kick and i’m reminded that they’re there and they’re alive and it all feels okay,” she shares, feeling a bit of freedom out in this field talking to her friend- she feels uninhibited. “can i tell you a secret?” she asks, though its hardly anything of the sort.  still she leans in dramatically and whispers, “i think it’s a boy,” she giggles, as her hands pluck berries into her basket.  “i have no way of knowing for sure of course but so many women in the infirmary tell me all these methods of finding out.  my mom calls them ‘wives tales’ but i’ve still been tempted to try them out.”  there are, of course, much more pressing thoughts on ophelia’s mind than the possible sex of her child, but it feels good for a moment to just talk about something joyful- to imagine that everything will be just fine and her only concerns are choosing a name and knitting jumpers.

“yeah, it’s been pretty crowded.  especially right after everything happened.  things have slowed a little bit but we still have some patients recovering from the storm.”  her fingers move a bit faster as she tries to focus on the task at hand and not picture the horrible things she’s seen lately.  “it was terrible.  i can’t imagine what you went through, with-” she doesn’t finish the sentence, she doesn’t need to.  gil hadn’t told her much, that wasn’t exactly a good sign. “i’m just glad my family is okay, and you’re okay.  and felix and mara and everyone.  i’m just glad we’re okay.”  she pauses for a minute, looking over at the other girl, grateful for just this moment of a bit of peace.  “i’ve been busy but busy is good.  busy keeps me occupied.  so you know, it’s been okay, all things considered.”

in her memory, home is still untouched. home is golden kissed, hazy due to what time has made of the memory and because those memories belong to a younger eva. she’s traded these memories with this younger eva often -- even more so now, when the waking days are harder than they used to be -- bargained them for comfort and handed them back to her precious grip when its been time to return to today. in that memory, she has a family. 

there are also more recent memories that eva barters against on days where she needs a life line. she remembers gentle hands, soft words. she remembers the dinner table, esha’s laugh. and she remembers him, clear of all -- clear as day and larger than life. she’d never wanted a family of her own, not really. she’d seen too much of the world with her parents, known too well the horrors and what they could take from them. but with samar, she had wanted it all. when eva lost him, she lost with him that desire too. now the thought of a family of her own cuts into something deep in her side, lets the blood out to dry as if easing pressure out to clear pain. now the thought of a family echoes like an empty promise, a hollow reminder of all that she had lost. 

there are whispers of these truths that threaten to float through her conscience here and now. eva swallows them down, hands slowing to just touch the way the leaves feel against her fingertips. she closes her eyes, if only for a moment. she tilts her head up to let it bask against the sun, breathes in the breeze and out the heaviness that threatens to linger. it’s ophelia’s words that bring her back to the present, and eva turns to her friend then. there’s a smile that burgeons on her face, threatens to spill over too wide when opie says -- can i tell you a secret? it’s so easy to feel lighter here, so easy to imagine ophelia’s family and the light it promises. it’s easier to share the joys of a friend then to keep at patching her own wounds, after all. eva leans in, nudges ophelia’s shoulder with her own. “i think you should try them out.” she says, lifts her brows in gesture. “--and promise to share them with me? if i’m to be an aunt, i’d like to be as prepared as possible.” 

she picks a few more berries, drops them into the basket on her side. the smile still lingers on her lips when she turns back to glance at ophelia. “he’s going to be so loved.” there’s a weight to the words, eva knows -- but it’s a tender one. she can only imagine the fears that must haunt ophelia, the pain the unhealed wound still carries. but she also knows ophelia is loved and supported, has people here that will care for her and her child with careful hands. 

“god -- i can’t imagine.” she says, pausing to press a knee down as ophelia explains the situation in the medical tent. “is there...anything we can do? anything i can do to help?” eva asks. it has to be just about as bad as eva could imagine, if not worse. they were already stretched thin with resources and time. the storm couldn’t have helped. when ophelia pauses at the mention, or lack thereof, of what had happened the night of the storm at the school, eva does too. she uses the silence to keep her hands busy again, picks at the bushes and fills up the basket by her side some more as she tries to work out what to say. it had ached, and it had passed; the sun had risen again. was there any point in speaking on it? drawing on what had happened that night any further? “it was...” she starts, struggles to find the words. she inhales, short -- shakes her head. “matty took it the hardest, i think. he -- knew her.” they all knew her; a neighbor, a friend. “it never gets easier.” she adds, quiet. and it’s all she has in her to add. 

another inhale, busy hands keeping busy, eva nods at ophelia’s following words. “yeah. yeah -- we can count our blessings for that.” and perhaps the hardest of it all -- to know the safety of their loved ones is up to chance. what part of it isn’t, is resting in the hands of a manic dictator. eva works her jaw, silently contemplating what they had argued about in the middle school in the silence of the aftermath. she doesn’t speak on it, doesn’t want to involve ophelia with those talks, not yet -- not like this. she attempts, then, at levity. “would be nice to catch a break though, wouldn’t it? the only thing i’d like to worry about is just...a harvest too small that we won’t worry about because next week’s will make up for it. or -- where to build a campfire, just so we can have another night to waste ration cards on shitty beer.”

[evarhie]

henriklarsen​:

—  🏹  —

The storm had blown through Idaho Falls over a week ago now and yet the damage left in its wake was still evident in every direction. It felt like an endless effort, cleaning up and restoring the zone to what it once had been, being sure the damage done wasn’t anything that would leave them vulnerable.

It was all work that needed to be done, there was no doubt about that, but the zone was vast and there were only so many of them capable of doing the work. Cleaning up the zone on top of everything else they were expected to keep on top of - sweeping the zone for infected or intruders, keeping eyes out for anything and everything that could be a threat. The list, it seemed, was endless these days.

Henrik wasn’t about to admit it, but it was all starting to wear on him more than he would like. He’s tired and sore. But what other choice is there?

He moves ahead without much mind paid towards the enforcer barking orders at them, fingers pulling at the string of his bow faithfully looped around his shoulder. He barely even looks in Eva’s direction as she approaches his side. “I suppose not. Haven’t had all that much time for training as of late.” Not when they were both running about on rescue missions and tasked regularly with clean up patrols.

His eyes pass her over, giving a bit of a nod in return to her statement. “You too.” He considers her question, weighs the truth and lies of it all that could serve as an answer. Settles somewhere in the middle. “As good as can be expected, I guess. Getting a little sick of throwing debris around.”

it’s practiced habit now; the way they all look at each other, cursory -- check for wounds -- ask you holding up ok? platitudes have become about checking in to see if the ones you know are still alive, still in one piece. it’s morbid if you stop to think about it, though they didn’t often have the chance to do that either. 

there’s a pass of breath at his words, amused. the patrol comes as a nice break from the clean-up, that much eva will agree on. “tell me about it.” she sympathizes. an arm stays on the body of the rifle slung over her shoulder as they map their way down the path. her gaze sweeps the perimeter, but eva lets herself relax the further down they get. briefly -- her mind flits to the pile of bodies her and nele had come across -- no shortage of horrors ready to quell up in memory at a moment’s notice. but she blinks the thought away, focuses on the path ahead and the stillness of the breeze. she’s well practiced in that too, now. 

“where did you end up in the storm?” she asks, eyes lifting off the tree line and back at him again. “hope you didn’t have to ride that out without shelter.” eva’s not sure she’s seen anyone who had to come out of it in good shape, or at all. “--we haven’t had a freak storm like that in a while, guess we were overdue for one. feels like we should’ve been more prepared for it but there’s just...” a pause, shake of her head. “not much else to be done to prevent that kind of fall out.” 

eva had plenty to say about how the aftermath could’ve been handled better, but she doesn’t broach that subject. not just yet, anyway. she doesn’t know where henrik’s allegiances stand. and after how the conversation had turned out at the middle school, eva’s not all that keen to try to figure that out again without knowing for certain who she could trust.

[evarhie]

mattyalston​:

He said it’d just be a second, but he gives himself longer than that. He gives himself longer to lean into the comfort he hasn’t managed to find in months. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend there isn’t a storm raging outside. Matty reaches out with his good arm to mirror the gesture, resting his own hand on Eva’s shoulder. He’s good at words, but sometimes you don’t need them, and anything you could say wouldn’t be enough. “Okay.” He eventually repeats. It’s not okay, that much is goddamn obvious - but he can’t sit here forever. It’s him who shatters the moment, standing to move Wendy. He can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine, from the absence of touch, or the howling winds, or both.