&& â * catharsis
simple. standard. should be easy, right?Â
a mantra she repeats anytime she goes into the danger room for a regulated practice session. regulated, as in thereâs a staff member to monitor of course and the ai itself is entirely functional, more than enough to prevent injury from the simulationâ because thatâs all it is, a simulation and yet fleurâs heart races at an alarming rate.Â
no need to speak, it shows. rosy lips pressed tightly together, the subtle movement whenever she thickly swallows, but, mainly, itâs how fleur zones out in thought just before. how does one mentally prepare for a room that can come up with essentially any situation and make it so realistic anyway? itâs as if the room has a superpower of its own. illusions, sheâs sure sheâs met someone who had the same ability so it exists. the room is another reminder of that too, just how many different abilities exist and how she might one day have to defend herself ( or worse, someone else not because she wouldnât want to but itâs the responsibility, the guilt if she fails ) against them.Â
honestly, all she still wants is to be able to completely protect someone from herself. what she fails at is the first step to doing that, rather than focusing on how she can protect others, she fails at defending herself. itâs nearly through, sheâs so convinced of it. a machine that has a power similar to hers, controlled bursts of energy ( and, yes, sheâs a little jealous ) that shoot at her and sheâs thankful she can harness that energy for her own use.Â
but it happens all too quickly, another appears just as sheâs gathering energy, temperature quickly rising for her to send off and destroy the first, detonation over deflagration. simple, right?Â
the truth is, itâs never easy. it never should be, and itâs a split second she has to try and separate her focus, to control the energy she has control of and to stop the incoming blast. muddled thoughts that canât merge together or gain clarity so she lets go of the first too late, utilizes it as a defense too late.Â
sheâs sent crashing, tumbling backwards, and everything fades to black.
NO SHIT, is she really going to do that? now?
from the height he was crouching on, with furrowed brows and half an incredulous frown, his eyes somehow â of all the frenzied matters to focus on â hone in on fleur. thatâs her name, isnât it? like the girl from the harry potter series?
maybe fleur laurent is not, at the moment, as observant as fleur delacour if she thinks she can successfully handle the radius of not one, but two explosions, given the current extremities of her capabilities.
itâs sort of like heâs watching her in slow motion. he thinks maybe sheâll make it out, so for a split second he doesnât move. of course, all time is precious; the loss of that split second and lack of his intervention sends her flying back, the smoke of the outburst rolling up in clouds and skewing his vision as heâs already webbing his way through the buildings until on his knees he is by her clearly insentient body.
there are some pretty nasty cuts on her head, but he knows sheâll be fine: heâs done this a thousand times. the worry was always the psychological aspect of it. some students were always harder on themselves than others. this girl, fleur â she seems like she would fall into that group, based on what jongin has observed thus far.
one arm slips under the joints of her knees, the other around her upper back. the simulation slowly fades into grids. when an artificial female voice (soothing, nonetheless) announces the simulation is complete, jongin is already by the exit, rushing her to the health center.
and because itâs not like he has anything better to do, he stays with her by the bed. just until she wakes up.
