The Bitter Taste of Truth [rxn/open]
It was hard to watch Hozumi suffering like he did. It was even harder to not be able to do anything about it. But undoubtedly, the hardest part of all was on the one doing the suffering… With this in mind, Dimara Siftat had stayed near the stage for the entirety of MAL1C3′s torture, and finally approached when the boy’s agony seemed to be dying down.
Stooping over and peering down, Dimara’s dark hair would make a sharp contrast to the lights around them, and after a few more moments she leans down particularly close to the boy. Before it’s apparent what she’s doing, rough hands were already digging their way underneath of Hozumi and grasping onto him.
“Nnngah!” a light grunt escapes the digger’s lips with the exhertion to lift the prosecutor from his slumber. She didn’t seem to register his consciousness, draping him right over her shoulder and stumbling for a moment from the sudden imbalance…. The smell coming off of the girl’s clothes from this range wasn’t exactly fragrant.
… And then, the pitter-patter of feet, and the flooring moving its way past Hozumi’s gaze. … She was taking him somewhere… But where?
Boots. Worn, dirty boots. They seem... sort of familiar? But he can’t quite place them. Even when the boots’ owner bends down, her face in his line of sight, it still takes him several moments to process who it was. He’d seen her before. Coffee. The kitchen. “Sifff... Sfff...” The attempt at speaking her last name fails, and given the state of his throat, it’s likely she didn’t even hear it anyway.
Before he can try again, or do anything else for that matter, Dimara is... ah, doing what, exactly...? Suddenly, his field of vision shifts as he’s hefted into the air, letting out a wheezing gasp when he lands on the digger’s shoulders. Instead of protesting at the indignity of it, which he most likely would have if the circumstances were a great deal different (though, in that case, he probably wouldn’t have been in this situation to begin with).
His body remains mostly limp, his forehead resting against her back... until he breathes in, and starts coughing in a way that certainly doesn’t do his raw throat any favors. He hates to be rude, but the smell, at the range he was at... he’s sorry, he’ll apologize when his voice is back, but it wasn’t something he could exactly help at the moment...
After his coughing fit, he realizes that... they’re moving? He looks down at the floor, but it doesn’t take him long to close his eyes; the movement is making him nauseous. “Where...?” he rasps out, though he’s unsure if she’s able to hear that, either.










