#ic. dawn

[voxvulgi]

a Dawn starter for @soulcluster

Did she pass out from the blood loss or the pain?

Or the grief?

When Dawn finally woke up, it was because of the sunlight burning through the broken windows directly into her tear-streaked face. The first thing that hit her was the smell.

She gagged before she even sat up. At first, she didn’t realise why this entire room smelled like the inside of an uncleaned menstrual cup. Her brain had blocked everything that happened last night, and there were no more animated corpses at the bars of the cell to remind her what she’d been through.

Bars...cell bars? Why was she in a cell? Where s everyone?

Dawn tried to sit up, but pain shot through her entire lower body and up her back. She cried out -- literally cried, tearing up and everything -- but only for a second. She still didn’t know where this pain came from. She still didn’t know that everyone was dead and her workplace was littered with half-eaten corpses.

She forced herself to sit, whimpering and biting her lip as her body barely cooperated. Once she had a higher field of vision, she saw it.

Saw them. The corpses right outside this cell, most in uniform, some civilians. What on earth--

Mark. Mark!

“Mahwr--” She couldn’t pronounce his name, her speech distorted by the stabs of pain as she looked around.

And then she screamed.

Mark wasn’t outside. He was right here with her, inside this cell, along with-- What was that fleshy--

No.

No.

NO!!!

The trauma of last night came back in tsunamis. Dawn wailed from the pain, from the scene, from the grief, from the shock-- The reasons behind her screams and sobs couldn’t be counted. She couldn’t even hear the furniture shuffling in the next room She couldn’t hear the person overstepping the corpses on their way in.

[voxvulgi]

@diviinitas​ (cont. from x)

I never say no to coffee. Unless it consists of more milk than coffee. He likes his coffee with just one spoonful of sugar, and has no problems taking it black. Anything else and he doesn’t like it. If the detective tops her coffee with whipped cream, then that will be the real crime.

I assume you have questions and that this isn’t a friendly coffee run. He’s told her nothing but truths so far, but police have a way of getting you to tell lies—what they want to hear—just to get them off your back. D’Ablo would know. He’s been on the giving and receiving end of such questioning many times. If you’re going to try to get me to admit to the murder, I can already tell you that it won’t work.

Did this man seriously think Dawn was inviting him to grab a coffee and sit down somewhere and chat? “Coffee run” didn’t mean they were going to hang out; it meant they would stop by a coffee place on the way to the station, grab a window order, then get to their destination ASAP. Dawn had an extra chair by her desk that she bet was dying for a butt to warm it.

She ignored his smart mouth, proceeding to do just what she said she’d do. She stopped the car by the window, ordered a latte, then turned to D’Ablo and said, “Let me guess; black like your soul?” She reached across to his side, fumbling in the glove compartment for her wallet. She didn’t really want to spend any of her barely sufficient salary on a suspicious guy’s coffee, but splitting the bill for coffees was just fucking lame. Especially if he did order a black.

[voxvulgi]

a Dawn starter for @mythvoiced to honour the legacy

“Let’s get this out of the way. First of all, you do realise that breaking and entering is illegal even if the owner of the house is out of town, right? Second of all, you do realise that not realising the illegality of your action doesn’t mean you don’t get to be punished, right?” He had to. A grown-ass man should possess some common sense.

She slid his file a little closer to him, the paper hissing against the table. They weren’t in an interrogation room: There was no need, as he’d been caught red-handed. “You’re not from here. Your file is empty. But you’re going to tell me exactly who you are so we can get this over with, and I can go home to my sloth and make dinner before he eats any more trash. So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna tell me your personal information, or am I gonna stay here late making phone calls?”

[voxvulgi]

a Lévêque starter for @microwaveds

“I can’t believe you got into a fight at uni and I had to come pick you up like you’re in elementary school and I’m you’re mom.” Dawn said that entire sentence in one breath...somehow. Probably because she was so pissed at Zoran that she didn’t need to breathe to show her pissed-ness.

“Hey, you know I don’t just get into fights,” came his response. It was his eye that was swollen, not his lip, so he could talk no problem.

Dawn sighed as they drove into the gas station. Her voice immediately softened when she said, “I know, Zoran. But they called the police on you. We’re on a police car right now. What were you thinking?”

Zoran just shrugged. He opened the passenger door and stepped out even before the car fully stopped. “I’m gonna get cup noodles.”

“I cooked lasagna!” Dawn pointed out. It was probably more vegetables than actual lasagna.

Just as Zoran reached for the door of the convenience store, it swung open and hit him right in his swollen eye. “Ow! MERDE!” Covering his injured eye, he looked up at the agent of his agony to see (with his other eye) that it was just the gas station guy, probably coming out to see if Dawn needed help with the gas. “Shit, dude!”