( man, she wishes it was the past. that life had lasted past the cliff, that it'd gotten harder to the point where charlotte could effectively look back on killing wells jaha and get past it, because that wasn't the worst thing she'd ever done. but it was. and although she'd jumped no more than an hour ago, it felt like minutes. her stomach was still doing lazy flipflops as if she were still plummeting through the air, and charlotte hangs her head when octavia pushes the knife back into her palm.
her fingers curl loosely around the handle, wrist limp and tears threatening to fall because the blade feels so familiar in her hand; so secure, and she feels so bad about it.
but subject change octavia wants? subject change octavia gets, because it's the same arm as her fresh tattoo. charlotte's still in her soaked tank top and long undershorts, and the marks stand out fresh against her pale forearm. sniffling: ) Is this a serial number or a room number? ( because in one way or another — everyone except octavia — they've all been catalogued their entire lives. tagged and dumped on earth, but now they're back in space, and it wouldn't surprise charlotte to learn that whoever piloted this ship had their own way of doing things.
with her non knife wielding hand, she picks at the skin. )
no subject
her fingers curl loosely around the handle, wrist limp and tears threatening to fall because the blade feels so familiar in her hand; so secure, and she feels so bad about it.
but subject change octavia wants? subject change octavia gets, because it's the same arm as her fresh tattoo. charlotte's still in her soaked tank top and long undershorts, and the marks stand out fresh against her pale forearm. sniffling: ) Is this a serial number or a room number? ( because in one way or another — everyone except octavia — they've all been catalogued their entire lives. tagged and dumped on earth, but now they're back in space, and it wouldn't surprise charlotte to learn that whoever piloted this ship had their own way of doing things.
with her non knife wielding hand, she picks at the skin. )