once known as Eno, a young Observer pilot recently out of training. now called the Fifth Tragedy, after the event that claimed their friends' lives and changed their own.
"The survivor had turned to face them, empty sockets fixing the visitor in their eyeless gaze. 'Mark my words, Revie...' They had spoken so quietly it was almost a whisper, but what they said shook Revie to the core. 'I am only the First.'
"Revie had left the chamber so unsettled that they swore never to speak to the survivor, nor even set foot in a ship again. They remained on the planet for the rest of their days, even when their family begged them to return."
Eclipser closes the scroll. "I feel like this one has been paraphrased at least a few times over the centuries," they frown. "But still... The First seems to have known the future, somehow. And they said it's inevitable, that it will always happen again..."
Eno is quiet for a moment before they speak. "Maybe it was inevitable in the time of the First, when space travel was still young. But, now..." They look up and, head tilted so their bangs cover their blind left eye instead of the scarred-over socket of the right, fix Eclipser in their sightless gaze. "Mark my words, Eclipser Revie," they say, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I am the Fifth, and I will be the last."
Send one (or a few) to my muse and they’ll answer:Â
Spiders: Does your muse squish bugs or put them outside?
The Dark: Did your muse sleep with a nightlight as a child?
Snakes: Would your muse ever keep an unusual/exotic pet?
Blood: What’s the worst injury your muse has ever had?
Clowns: Does your muse prefer comedy? Or horror?
Mirrors: What is your muse’s least favorite thing about their appearance?
Tight Space: Does your muse ever feel that they’re not living up to their own potential?
Closet Monsters: Does your muse hide any aspects of their personality/life from others?
Crowds: What does your muse think of big cities?
Death: Name one thing your muse has lost that they wish they could get back.
Ghosts: Has your muse ever seen something they couldn’t explain?
Needles: Does your muse have a strong stomach?
Curses: Does your muse believe in good/bad luck? How about karma?
Heights: Is your muse a risk-taker?
Solitude: Name 3 things your muse couldn’t live without.
Fire: Would your muse rather be very cold, or very hot?
Failure: Has your muse ever given up on an important dream?
Abandonment: How would your muse win back someone who left them?
The Unknown: Is your muse a philosophical person?
Boogeyman: What position does your muse sleep in?
Falling: What does your muse think about falling in love or commitment?Â
Change: What was a turning point in your muse’s life?
Disease: What does your muse do on a sick day?
Number 13: Does your muse believe any superstitions?Â
Noise: Name one sound your muse finds absolutely unbearable.
Insects: Name something your muse finds gross or annoying.Â
Dolls: Has your muse ever collected something?
Getting Old: Would your muse rather live 50 years loved, or 200 years alone?
Social Phobia: Does your muse consider themselves an outgoing person?
Neri watches Eno pilot the ship, a sad smile on their face. They're thinking about what they're going to do - what they have to do. Eno looks so happy, lost in flight-trance like that. They probably can't even see Neri, probably aren't even registering their presence. For a moment, doubts flicker through Neri's mind. Do they really want to do this? What if it hurts Eno badly? What if Rael wakes up and ruins it? What if Eno doesn't forgive them even after they prove to Eno and to everyone that-
No, it doesn't matter. Neri can't doubt now. They've already made their decision, and they have to carry it out.
They stand up and take a step toward Eno, close enough to touch. Then they reach out, brush aside the long hair, and press two fingers to the back of their friend's neck.
---
Fifth sits on the floor of the ship, close behind Eclipser. Not watching them pilot it, after all, they can't see. But they're listening to the crackle of electricity and the sounds of the buttons and levers and Eclipser's breathing. They're thinking about what they're going to do - what the two of them have planned together. Eclipser's power fills the ship, their awareness in every nook and cranny. They can see Fifth from every angle. For a moment, doubts flicker through Fifth's mind. Do they really want to do this so badly? What if it hurts Eclipser? What if they try it, only to find they can't? What if it goes badly wrong and they lose Eclipser just like they lost-
No, it doesn't matter. Fifth can't doubt now. They've already gone over all the details together, spent months planning it, and now it's finally time.
They adjust their position, getting comfortable on the big cushion that Eclipser had stuffed into the ship just for this. Then they extend their awareness and slip into the ship, their body collapsing behind them like it's unconscious.
Instantly, awareness floods their mind - as does sight. It seems so unfamiliar now, so abstract when they try to look. Too many angles, most of the cameras they've looked through only have one viewpoint. So instead they look outward, into space. It's beautiful. The stars rushing past, the interstellar gas and dust. They can perceive it with every sense, everything the ship has. And they can feel Eclipser in the ship with them. So close it's like they're sharing a body - and in a way they are. They can't control the ship, but they feel their friend's power rushing through it, and it's almost possible to pretend it's their own. But it's easier to just sit back - so to speak - and enjoy the ride. They've missed the stars so much.
After some time, Eno has seen more of the stars than they had in the previous year, and older memories are threatening to encroach on their current experience, so they recede from the ship and back into their own body, where they curl up and fall asleep. Like many times before, they dream of stars and space. But this time it doesn't hurt.
"It's a cycle. I'm sure of it. Tragedy—shock—remembrance—prevention—forgetting—tragedy.
It used to change, each time. The First, forced into service; the Second, faced with a cruel choice; the Third, coerced and manipulated; the Fourth, betrayed by someone who couldn't have known what they were doing. And then me. The Fifth. Betrayed by a friend who (I hope) didn't know what they were doing.
The cycle becomes clearer every time. Before the First, little was known about ships, about pilots, even about how our powers worked. Before the Second, nobody realized that fear could cause an overload just as much as force. Before the Third, we didn't fully know how vulnerable our pilots are, how safe we have to be kept. Before the Fourth, we had forgotten the Third. And before me, we'd forgotten the Fourth.
But I'm not going to let it be forgotten again. I am the Fifth, and I will be the last."
[Transcription of a video interview given by Sculptor Liran some time after the fifth occurrence of the Tragedy.]
Liran is sitting at a table, facing the camera. They look to be about average height, with coppery skin and darker hair that looks like it's still growing out from a mourning haircut, almost long enough to brush their shoulders. Their eyes are mostly green, and they sit with their upper set of arms resting on the table and the lower - one of which is prosthetic - in their lap. They are wearing a long dress, in a simple cut but with detailed embroidered designs that cover half the fabric and look to still be unfinished.
They look down at the camera, possibly reading something, and then close their eyes, sit up slightly, and begin to speak.
"I don't know what I was expecting when I saw the crashed ship.
I knew it was something bad, of course. It had to be. No one who had the skills to fly a ship in the first place would land so badly, not if they were still able to control it.
But I wasn't prepared for what exactly it was. What had happened to the pilot.
It had been a cold morning, much like every other on the Wake. And I was still up, it had been a few days since I'd slept. I was deep in a conversation with a friend a few stars away when it must have hit, so I didn't really notice. But they did, they pointed out that there had been some kind of loud noise on my end. So I went outside to look. And I saw that ship. Small, like any other, but really beat up looking. Definitely hadn't had a smooth landing. And no one was coming out of it. I waited for a few minutes, but still no one did. So I went over there and looked inside.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. I don't think I'm ever going to forget that horrible smell. Burned hair, and worse. I covered my face with my shirt and kept going. I called out, but no one answered, so I went to the front of the ship where the pilot would be. That's where I found them. Still at the controls, but slumped over, they didn't look conscious. This was about when I realized the scale of what must have happened. There were scorch marks all over. The controls looked scorched, half-melted. There were two dark spots on the floor, and I felt this.. sheer dread fill me, when I stepped close to those. Some part of me knew there was death in that ship.
The person in the pilot's seat wasn't dead, though they looked it. I could see them breathing, just a little. They were... gods, they looked like they should have been dead. Their hair was half burnt off, though that couldn't have accounted for all of the burning smell. They were sort of twitching a little? Their hands were twitching on the controls. I realized the ship's inner lights were still on at this point, the air filters still trying to clear all that god-awful smoke out of the air. Now, I don't know how much you know about ships like that, but they don't have backup batteries. The pilot has to do everything manually. They sort of go into a trance, I think? Like an out-of-body experience. But they usually stop, once they've landed. So they can go and do whatever they've gone wherever they've gone for. But this person hadn't, they were still in that trance. There was something else wrong with them, too - their power was... I don't know how to describe it. It was like they weren't controlling it properly. Sparking out of them like some broken electronic thing, melting bits of their mask and adding more little burnt holes to their already far from intact clothing, flickering over their skin. I knew immediately that I didn't want to touch them. It was easy to put two and two together with that, and the scorch marks on the floor so close to them, and the fact that no one ever flies a ship alone. But I didn't want to. I was still hoping that somehow this wasn't the Tragedy, that they'd just taken ill or something on their own, that it wasn't as bad as it looked. But it was as bad as it looked, and I think I knew that.
I wasn't really sure what to do at this point, so I ran back home, told my friend what I'd seen and went to find someone who could help. I found my closest neighbors - Horticulturist Ikel and the Provost - Ikel because I knew them, and Provost, I don't know their name, because they used to be a teacher of some sort on one of the stations, so I thought they might know ships. And then we went back to that ship. I warned them about the smell before we left, and they brought scarves for us to wrap around our faces. I didn't take one. Covering my face wouldn't remove the memory of it, wouldn't clean the smoke from my lungs. I didn't want to go back into there.
But I did anyway, letting the others go ahead of me.
The Provost said I was right to not want to touch that person, and that since they were still in flight-trance and had lost control of their powers they were dangerous. Couldn't touch them without risking a shock. They told Ikel something quietly, and then Ikel explained to that person although I don't think they could hear, that we'd need to get them back into their body before we could move them, and that it might hurt but they'd try not to. They had something that's apparently used in pilot training if someone gets too far out of their body. Something soft with a very insulating handle, I guess? I wasn't really looking at it. Since this wasn't really my area of expertise - well, none of it was my area of expertise, I just was the one who found it - but, I wasn't really looking at what Ikel and the Provost were doing as much as I was looking at the person lying on the controls there. I hadn't really gotten a good look at them the first time so I was doing that now. Their hair was black, but it looked really scorched and was already starting to crumble away at the slightest touch, so I didn't know if their hair was actually black or if it was just all charred. Two arms, three fingers to a hand, nothing unusual about their build except that they were kind of tall. They had dark skin, sort of iridescent, probably would have been very pretty but they had all these cracks or wounds over them. With their power going through those cracks it looked like veins of lava or something ripping open through their skin. Aside from the injuries, they didn't look like anyone in the groups that live in this system, but I don't know where they might have been from. Spacers can look like anything and be from anywhere, you'd literally never know. They had a mask on too, looked like some sort of horned animal. I guess it's a standard pilot thing because it had all these wires from it connecting to the ship, but some of the wires were broken and the mask itself was... melted, in places? I don't know if the spots on the controls were bits that had melted and dripped off of the mask, or just blood, or... something else. One of their hands was still gripping a lever, so tightly that I wondered if we'd be able to get them to let go, or if we'd have to cut the lever off of the control panel. I hadn't brought metal cutters with me, and I don't think Ikel had either, and the Provost isn't the type to even own metal cutters. There was soot and smoke all over the ship, not just on its pilot but there was a lot of it on them, and a big charred burned spot on their back. There were still little wisps of smoke coming off of their body whenever their power sparked into the air and back down to them. Ikel flinched at one point, I think because one of those sparks hit them, and when that happened the pilot sort of... flinched? shuddered? I'm not really sure, but it was a movement, and more almost coordinated than the twitching that was all they'd been doing up until then.
I guess eventually the Provost was able to coax them out of the ship and back into their body, because they stopped sparking and we were able to get them physically out of the ship. I had to pry their hand off of the lever that they were still holding. Would have really preferred someone else to do that but since I'm a sculptor they said I had the most gentle touch... I don't really know about that. They... their hand...
Well. I was able to get it out of their hand, but. A lot of skin came off with it. Most of the skin of their hand.
Anyway, we all carefully lifted them up and carried them out. Not with our hands, of course, just powers. Someone as injured as that, you don't want to touch them more than you absolutely have to. We got them to the settlement and brought them to a medic, and then I went home as soon as I could and slept for about a week to try to get my mind off of everything I'd just seen."
Liran stops, opens their eyes, and looks toward the camera.
"Was that all you wanted?"
They pause for a few moments, reading or listening to something, and then nod.
"I didn't know what had happened there immediately. Or maybe I did, but I sure didn't want to. By the time I woke up, they'd been able to regain consciousness and speak a little. The Provost kept me updated on how they were doing, and what had been learned about them.
And what had happened was that, they'd been in their ship with two others from their fleet, and one of those two had betrayed them, taking advantage of their absence from their body to threaten harm, and forcing them to take their ship here, instead of the space station they'd been heading for. And, I think Provost explained it as, either the fear got to them or they pushed themself too hard and went into overload. Either way, what must have happened is, one of their friends touched them and the other friend at once, and it connected a circuit between all three of them and the ship. With three people's worth of electricity, and the other two not expecting it, it probably killed both of them instantly. That's what those scorch marks on the ship's floor were. So, yeah, it was the Tragedy after all. The betrayal of one in so vulnerable a situation, and the resulting harm... and the death. It's been, what, two centuries since the last time this happened, right? I guess we were all thinking it wouldn't happen again. Just an awful fact for the history books. But, well, we were wrong. It happened again."
Again, Liran looks at the camera for a moment.
"Yeah, I still see them around sometimes. After they were healed enough from their injuries, they got put with some people pretty close by who were willing to take care of them. One of those is someone I know, so I see them a lot and sometimes I show them some of my works. They're completely blind, and their power perception is only slightly better than their sight, so I've made a few smaller versions of my favorite sculptures so they can feel the shapes. They're kind of odd sometimes, but they're nice enough, and I... oh hey."
They look away from the camera recording them, turning around to face someone off-screen. "What're you doing in here?"
Someone behind Liran slowly walks into view of the camera. They're tall, with dark skin shot through with flame-colored scars, and unnaturally white hair, reminiscent of certain paintings depicting an ancient mythical psychopomp. They are wearing a short white skirt, a white cloth covering their eyes, and nothing else.
"Hey, Fivey, what are you doing? This is my house." Liran asks playfully, tapping the other's scarred arm with their prosthetic one. 'Fivey' turns toward them at the touch, seemingly not responding to their words, and then somehow notices the camera, tilting their head as if curiously looking at it.
"Yeah, that's a camera," Liran says. "I'm doing a video interview right now. About you, actually."
They still don't acknowledge the words, instead still seeming to stare at the camera through their blindfold. Then they reach out toward it with one hand, the pinkish burn scars covering their palm and the underside of their fingers coming into crisp focus.
The video feed flickers, becoming slightly warped and separating into its component colors at the edges. The focal point of the video shifts, first from the scarred hand to the scarred face, and then to Liran's face, where it remains even as they collapse.
Liran jumps up and catches them before their head can hit the table. "Damn it... Fifth, I know you like to see, but you gave me too much of a shock right there. Please can you get out of my camera and get back in your body?"
Again, the feed flickers, but this time it becomes less distorted. Fifth pulls their lanky frame back into a standing position, but leaves one hand in Liran's for a bit longer before letting go.
"What was it you wanted here, by the way?" Liran asks.
Fifth still doesn't speak, instead looking around the room. They slowly walk to one end of it, and then collapse out of frame.
Liran laughs softly, picking up the camera and angling it to show Fifth's scarred body lying facedown in a pile of soft-looking pillows. "That was what you came here for? Floor time?"
Finally they speak, mumbling just the word "cold".
"You... were cold?" Liran asks. "Why not just put on some more clothing?"
Fifth replies, voice still muffled by the pillows, and the only word audible is "coords".
"Good point," Liran concedes. "Here, how about I get you a blanket. I've got one that's white, it'll match your blindfold." They then look back at the camera. "Well, I think I've said enough for you to get your scoop, now, haven't I? Plus a glimpse at the Tragedy themself. They don't look like death anymore... now they just look like Death." They laugh a little, amused by their own joke. "Though, they only resemble the reaper in their looks, they've got a pretty sweet personality when you get to know them. Now, I think I'm done here." They gesture toward the camera, fingertips sparking, and the video stops.
Actually, what are Fifth's literal dreams like, too? If their species dreams, that is
[their species does dream, and sometimes very intensely so - they're able to stay awake for multiple days straight with no ill effects, but then have to sleep for a proportionally long time after that, and can get some really long and very interesting dreams from that. Fifth, however, does not often do this - they have to sleep more frequently in order to avoid having too intense of dreams. their carers often have to remind them to sleep, because if not they'll sometimes stay awake for quite a while and then crash very hard - resulting in basically a week straight of nightmares. and as for what their dreams are like...]
Fifth: "Dreams are... weird. Sometimes it's just like regular life except that everything is horribly wrong but everyone keeps going about the motions like it's fine. Sometimes it's like memories from before it all happened, except different. A lot of times I'm not me in them. Usually when that happens I'm one of my old friends, the ones who were... y- you know..." (They trail off, not quite wanting to finish that sentence.) "Other times it's nightmares, like a fresh new painful take on everything that happened. Or just a screaming abstract blur and I wake up forgetting how to move again. Those ones make everything harder for a while after."
Fifth: "I like a lot of music! But there's, a little while ago I met some aliens - you know the ones who only just recently made first contact? The 'humans' ones? I met some of those guys, and one of them gave me this!" (They hold up a silvery device shaped like a thick disk.) "It's a music player! They gave me some music for it, too, I think they said it was 'classicals' or something?"
(Fifth puts the music player down and presses some buttons on it.) "This piece is one of my favorites!"
(The music starts playing, with a high-pitched melody that almost sounds like bells. Then the vocals start:
Fifth: "Dream come true... like aspirations? I... had those. Once. I wanted to be the best pilot there ever was. Silly little kid me. No one's the best ever. But I guess it did come true, kind of, since I was pretty good even though I was weak. I could do tricks that other people couldn't."
"But then... well, you know the story. You know the Tragedy. Can't fly anymore, now."
They'd seemed trustworthy enough. You thought you'd known them long enough. You didn't think you would have a reason not to trust them.
But now here they are, standing behind you, fingertips pressed into the back of your neck, power crackling down their arm and just barely grazing your hair.
They'd always had stronger powers than you, you knew that. You had never been one of the strong ones. You'd just been skilled.
You'd felt so proud when you were given a ship of your own. A small one, like most, just enough room for you and two others and the things you'd need. And you'd invited two friends to travel with you this time.
You'd gotten ready for the flight like always. That nervous anticipation swirling in your stomach, just like always. And, just like always, it slipped away as soon as you slid the mask over your face and reached out to the controls, letting your awareness slide out from your body and into your ship.
You hadn't noticed anything off about either of your passengers, any warning signs in their actions. Nothing. You'd known what they both were doing, of course, a gentle awareness in the back of your mind as you focused on flight - one deeply asleep in a bunk, unlikely to wake up for most of the journey, and one sitting near you, watching you intently as your hands danced across the controls and your power arced from your eyes, down your arms, into your ship.
Maybe there had been warning signs.
But you just hadn't realized. You'd barely even noticed when they stood up and stepped toward you in an oddly purposeful way, you'd only been surprised when their fingers brushed your hair aside, grazing your neck. The touch wasn't enough to pull you out of flight-trance, of course - there isn't much that can pull someone out of flight-trance if they don't want to be. But it was enough to make you notice. And then they'd pressed harder, letting their power flicker down their arm and into their fingertips to spark against your skin.
They've been there for a few seconds now, long enough for you to realize that something is terribly wrong. They smile, slowly, seeing you shiver in a delayed reaction to their touch.
Then they speak.
"We're not going to the Sungrazer station."
You try to respond, but you're too deep in flight-trance to use your voice. Instead, its sound comes through the little speakers set into the ceiling. You'd almost forgotten your ship could do that, and - underneath the fear that's starting to creep through you - you feel a little glow of pride. "Yeah we are, that's where we're all going this trip. I told you that already."
They laugh, and move their hand slightly. From a less-than-gentle touch, to a firm grip on the back of your neck. You can feel the pulse of their power within their hand, the current running down your spinal cord miniscule in comparison, and you realize that all they have to do is bring that power out slightly, and then it'll be their electricity in your nerves, their will overriding your motion. "No, we aren't," they say. "You're going to take us to Exequia Wake. You know where that is, right?"
As they tighten their grip just slightly, you notice a sensation in your stomach like it's being pulled downward within you. That's fear, you remember. Fear localized to the physical body. Distantly, you wonder if there's something important about that. You're so deep in the ship that you want to ignore your friend's hand around your neck, their power a fingerswidth from your spine. But then your power sparks, a small uncontrolled arc that breaks from the flow into the ship and instead sinks into your skin. You can see from every angle the small burn mark just next to your left eye, and the slightly singed line on the underside of your mask. And you remember. Why you can't let yourself panic. Fear puts the body on alert, ready to run and hide. Fear breaks your control of your power. If you let the fear overwhelm you, you'll lose control. You'll lose the trance, you'll lose your ship, you'll lose everything. Nothing matters now except controlling that fear.
You slow your breaths, feeling your body shake slightly as, under your mask, another spark makes contact with your skin. Your friend asks, "Well? Are you going to take us to the Wake, or do I have to make you?" Their fingers tap in a rhythmic pattern on the side of your neck, gently sparking with each touch.
You respond through the ship's speakers. "I'll go to Exequia Wake." Your voice sounds surprisingly calm - the half-controlled fear is still apparent, but none of the hesitancy that your shaking vocal cords would have given it makes it through.
They don't move their hand. "Good, good. Get to it."
Obediently, you begin to adjust course. You know you're still in control of your motions, but as you watch your hands move across the controls, it almost feels like they're doing so without your input. Every few seconds, a stray spark runs off one finger or another and leaves a smudge of soot on the panel. You're still panicking. "Can you... please move your hand?" you dare to ask. "It's making me... I'm..." You trail off, losing track of your words as you try to focus on controlling your power.
Your friend taps their fingers in a little rhythm again. "Hmm... I don't think so. I happen to like watching you work."
"You can still watch, just hhhh, don't-" Even through the speakers, you're losing speech. Your body is breathing more quickly now, despite your efforts to control it.
"And," they interrupt, "I'd like to see you do it a bit faster, too. Can you do that? Give it a bit more speed?"
"I... I'm already..."
They briefly tighten their grip again, letting some power through their fingertips to sting your skin. It's not a request.
You accelerate, pushing more power into the ship from within yourself, and simultaneously pushing your awareness deeper in as well. Your body is shaking too much to use the controls now, but it doesn't matter, you're directing the ship with nothing but your mind as your trembling hands curl weakly around the levers. Your power arcs out from your eyes in spurts that singe the inside of your mask before sinking deep into your skin to trace now-glowing lines down your face and arms, lines that you can distantly feel a burning pain pulse through with every rapid heartbeat. Thin wisps of smoke begin to rise from the blackened surfaces of the levers where your fingertips touch them. You hear a strange sound within the ship, and it takes you several minutes to realize it's your own breathing, now more similar to sobbing.
You almost don't notice when your friend lifts their hand from your neck after one of the numerous sparks wracking your body sinks into their skin, and when, without their grip to hold it in place, your body collapses forward, masked face pressing against the controls you've long since cut off input from.
And you fully fail to notice that your other friend has woken up, that they've gotten out of their bunk and are running to the front of the ship. All you can see is your flight path, all you can feel is the power overflowing from your body and pouring into your body. You can't hear them as they shout, "What are you doing to them?!" You can't hear the response, spoken too quietly for anyone to hear over the sounds of power arcing from your eyes, from your hands, into your circuits. You can't see as one passenger moves to confront the other, you can't feel as their hand accidentally brushes your back where you lie slumped over at the controls. You can't hear the explosion as three bodies' worth of electricity rips through both of your dearest friends and into the metal floor. You can't smell the odor of burnt hair and scorched flesh that slowly rises through the now much quieter ship.
You don't even notice the flow of electricity from your still twitching body beginning to lessen. It doesn't stop, just slows, to a volume that some still dimly aware part of you knows can be sustained. All you can feel is your flight path, your course still charted for the planet Exequia Wake.
Eventually, there's no more path to follow, and you're almost aware of the atmosphere that suddenly surrounds you. Distantly, so distantly, you notice ground approaching, and you decelerate just in time for it to hit, feeling your hull scrape across the stone as you come to a stop.
Nothing moves. Your lungs continue to weakly fill and empty, your heart continues to beat. You can't remember what else you have that can move.
It's still and silent as sunlight begins to filter through your shattered windows.
whats the dumbest thing youve done to impress someone? how did it go?
Fifth: "Well... the first time flying my own ship... we went through an asteroid heavy zone and I kind of. Did some loop-de-loops. Around the asteroids. Trying to get as close to them as possible without hitting them." (They laugh a little at the memory.) "I was pretty good at it, but then one of my friends tried to do the same and nearly crashed... they didn't hit it, of course, but they had to push it away from them and it went kinda towards someone else... we both got a bit of a talking-to for that."
hey, Fifth - What is your earliest memory that you can remember?
"Evaluations. I was... little. Can't remember the actual evaluation. But afterward, standing next to my parent, holding their skirt with my hand. The evaluator talking to my parent. Don't remember what they said, but my parent said, even if I wasn't strong, I c-could still- could still- I-" (Fifth turns away from the asker at that, burying their face in their hands.)
The touch wasn't enough to pull you out of flight-trance, of course - there isn't much that can pull someone out of flight-trance if they don't want to be. But it was enough to make you notice.
The wounds reopen when you straighten your fingers, bubblegum-pink blood spilling out from the cracks. But you have to straighten your fingers, have to reopen the scabs. You'll never regain your range of motion if you let it heal all curled up like that.
You'd gotten ready for the flight like always. That nervous anticipation swirling in your stomach, just like always. And, just like always, it slipped away as soon as you slid the mask over your face and reached out to the controls, letting your awareness slide out from your body and into your ship.
jbbartram-illu
izzy806
janainaart
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic
blakekathryn
areudirty
dailybridgerton
germansingergirl
