04-03-2014, 09:32 AM
Aria made it to the laundry before Connor's emotions overwhelmed her. Barely enough time to toss in the blood soaked pants before she felt the mass of sorrow, desperation and guilt overwhelm every other feeling she had in the building. She grabbed at the edge of the machine to catch herself from falling. Aria could barely make out the words through the pain.
The few words the dribbled into her mind were simple yet powerful, son, died and sickness. Aria had heard the rumors, she'd never seen it, never been on those missions. Those children taken from their families and studied. Entire families that disappeared, all because it was thought to be contagious. But Aria knew better. The gods had returned and with them the emergence of this sickness. The two were tied, but how she didn't know. But others in the Atharim would, of course they would, they were the ultimate knowledge of those supposed reborn gods.
Aria pushed aside her thoughts, and the feelings. She wrapped herself tighter in the bubble of emptiness she kept around her at all times. It only dampened the feeling. Aria took a deep breath and started the machine on it's fastest cycle. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long.
The other room was filled with sorrow and pain and Aria knew she had to enter, had to get her coat, and her weapons she'd left in the other bathroom. It was difficult, but she managed to walk around the small congregation of men with out incident. Her skin was pale from the extensive pain. She quickly grabbed her weapons belt and found a seat far from Conner. It wasn't very far away, she didn't think anything could be far enough away in this loft. Aria pulled her coat around her as if it would help block the powerful emotions. It did little more than warm her body.
Aria focused on the feel of the lining on her arms. The soft caress of the satin liner. She tried to listen. But all she could do was feel bad for Connor and his loss. She'd never known such family, there was no loss that great for her, and there likely never would be. But it was not her sorrow she felt, she knew that the depression overwhelming her was not hers. She had to push it away.
Aria tried to speak, at first nothing came out. She swallowed and tried again. Her voice was laced with Connor's sorrow, "You were probably right to keep him home. There was nothing you could do once he reached that stage of the sickness. At least he passed in loving arms."
Much better than in the cold stale hospital room or worse yet in the cement walls of some unknown facility devoid of any love or care for their patients.
The few words the dribbled into her mind were simple yet powerful, son, died and sickness. Aria had heard the rumors, she'd never seen it, never been on those missions. Those children taken from their families and studied. Entire families that disappeared, all because it was thought to be contagious. But Aria knew better. The gods had returned and with them the emergence of this sickness. The two were tied, but how she didn't know. But others in the Atharim would, of course they would, they were the ultimate knowledge of those supposed reborn gods.
Aria pushed aside her thoughts, and the feelings. She wrapped herself tighter in the bubble of emptiness she kept around her at all times. It only dampened the feeling. Aria took a deep breath and started the machine on it's fastest cycle. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long.
The other room was filled with sorrow and pain and Aria knew she had to enter, had to get her coat, and her weapons she'd left in the other bathroom. It was difficult, but she managed to walk around the small congregation of men with out incident. Her skin was pale from the extensive pain. She quickly grabbed her weapons belt and found a seat far from Conner. It wasn't very far away, she didn't think anything could be far enough away in this loft. Aria pulled her coat around her as if it would help block the powerful emotions. It did little more than warm her body.
Aria focused on the feel of the lining on her arms. The soft caress of the satin liner. She tried to listen. But all she could do was feel bad for Connor and his loss. She'd never known such family, there was no loss that great for her, and there likely never would be. But it was not her sorrow she felt, she knew that the depression overwhelming her was not hers. She had to push it away.
Aria tried to speak, at first nothing came out. She swallowed and tried again. Her voice was laced with Connor's sorrow, "You were probably right to keep him home. There was nothing you could do once he reached that stage of the sickness. At least he passed in loving arms."
Much better than in the cold stale hospital room or worse yet in the cement walls of some unknown facility devoid of any love or care for their patients.