Post by Ilana Rose Goldstein on May 11, 2018 3:24:25 GMT -5
Knock me out
(knock me out)
Saying that I want more, this is what I live for
(knock me out)
Saying that I want more, this is what I live for
She had lists in her head, lists of names, faces, and failures.
Couldn't write them down and leave them around, even spelled and Transfigured, might be found. So she kept them locked up in her shielded head, held them against Queenie. Each name was a scar-- some good, some bad. People she'd smuggled out, people she hadn't been able to, people she was working on. Only a few went to the sanctuary in France-- many wanted further than France, some wanted their immediate families, some still wanted schooling. They wanted names, false identities, wanted somewhere that wasn't close enough to see the enemy. Kids, singularly, were easier to move-- but they wanted their parents, their siblings. Adults managed on their own, and blended in more.
When she worked in the gym, they were a half-comforting mantra in her head, pushing her further, deeper, and fuck, somehow it worked to clear her head. It was the only part of the job he could think of them on-- her real job required more focus, more of a clear head, more of a risk of invasion. She liked that, to be blunt-- more chances to practice, easier to compartmentalize, kept her from listening to that driven-in conscious that demanded she do everything at once, right now.
If she was younger or (a smile quirked on her face at the thought) three years older and repressing memories, she'd fall into bed with whoever when she glanced at to keep her mind off of things. Unlike Robins, she hadn't had to do that for over a decade. Ilana didn't mind an empty bed, though more often than not it would be her own fault for falling out. YJ found that funny, she was sure, pretty bastard that he was.
Still. She didn't need to repress, and other than that, she'd never found much purpose in drinking. Dulled the mind, slowed the reaction times, both things she'd never needed. Other people at the gym-- magical or not, she'd never bothered to find out for most-- they often went off drinking at the end of shifts. When her jobs were over, if she'd felt she'd put enough together, put in enough work, she went to dinner at a good diner.
She had a semi-usual spot at Clearwater-- halfway decent view of the river, better barstool than others. She'd been half tempted to carve some sort of initial on it when she'd first reliably found it, but had decided that was far too stupid. What exactly would she do with that?
It was still empty, thankfully, but there was someone next to it, and a number of empty seats. Didn't want to seem weird, but still worth a shot.
"You good if I sit here?" Younger than the. . fuck. Asher or Ariela, whichever one was older-- their age the oldest, Dion's the youngest. Soft kid, pretty kid. "'m fairly good at ignoring things."
Couldn't write them down and leave them around, even spelled and Transfigured, might be found. So she kept them locked up in her shielded head, held them against Queenie. Each name was a scar-- some good, some bad. People she'd smuggled out, people she hadn't been able to, people she was working on. Only a few went to the sanctuary in France-- many wanted further than France, some wanted their immediate families, some still wanted schooling. They wanted names, false identities, wanted somewhere that wasn't close enough to see the enemy. Kids, singularly, were easier to move-- but they wanted their parents, their siblings. Adults managed on their own, and blended in more.
When she worked in the gym, they were a half-comforting mantra in her head, pushing her further, deeper, and fuck, somehow it worked to clear her head. It was the only part of the job he could think of them on-- her real job required more focus, more of a clear head, more of a risk of invasion. She liked that, to be blunt-- more chances to practice, easier to compartmentalize, kept her from listening to that driven-in conscious that demanded she do everything at once, right now.
If she was younger or (a smile quirked on her face at the thought) three years older and repressing memories, she'd fall into bed with whoever when she glanced at to keep her mind off of things. Unlike Robins, she hadn't had to do that for over a decade. Ilana didn't mind an empty bed, though more often than not it would be her own fault for falling out. YJ found that funny, she was sure, pretty bastard that he was.
Still. She didn't need to repress, and other than that, she'd never found much purpose in drinking. Dulled the mind, slowed the reaction times, both things she'd never needed. Other people at the gym-- magical or not, she'd never bothered to find out for most-- they often went off drinking at the end of shifts. When her jobs were over, if she'd felt she'd put enough together, put in enough work, she went to dinner at a good diner.
She had a semi-usual spot at Clearwater-- halfway decent view of the river, better barstool than others. She'd been half tempted to carve some sort of initial on it when she'd first reliably found it, but had decided that was far too stupid. What exactly would she do with that?
It was still empty, thankfully, but there was someone next to it, and a number of empty seats. Didn't want to seem weird, but still worth a shot.
"You good if I sit here?" Younger than the. . fuck. Asher or Ariela, whichever one was older-- their age the oldest, Dion's the youngest. Soft kid, pretty kid. "'m fairly good at ignoring things."
