Koala | One Piece (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scrubscrub) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-05-16 05:19 pm
scrubscrub) wrote in driftfleet2016-05-16 05:19 pm
Entry tags:
[open] bad dreams are made of these
Who: Koala and you!
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Huntress and Iskaulit
When: May 16th-ish. (Prose or action brackets both welcome!)
(Warnings for child abuse and traumatic dream stuff.)
Small fishing boat, it's on fire.
She wants to jump but she's not a good swimmer. Someone grabs her by her legs, holds her like a prized fish, and she flails. 'Got a live one,' Blurry Face says, 'This one'll make for a fine addition.' Dad doesn't call out for her anymore, because Dad is — wake up, wake up, wake up, open your eyes...!
Bright lights, classical music, Koala drags her feet. The stage is lit, hurts her eyes, she swears she sees her mom and dad sitting in the front row. Do they see she's scared? She just wants to go home. She's the smallest on the stage, and she sells for more than she's ever heard; she remembers thinking coins in a jar were pretty and shined like treasure, but it's really not a lot now that she hears the other prices on other chained people, some shaped human and others shaped not. Someone near her is dancing and performing on command, but they don't look like they enjoy dancing much at all. Mom and dad watch and clap and smile. Koala pulls at her metal collar and blubbers miserably, fat hot tears down her face. Why aren't they coming up to the stage and taking her back? She's not anybody's but theirs. She wants to go home.
She forgot dad's rules. His dying rule. Whatever you do, Koala, don't cry. They won't like it when you cry, she understands now. They see it as weak, annoying. But she can't stop. Why can't she stop sobbing? She never sobbed in the auction house...! The master, holding his ring of keys, steps forward and lumbers high above her (he shouldn't be here, he should be in the clouds, in his mansion with his family who refuses to breathe peasant air), and says sharply, 'I hate crying little brats,' and then he pulls his hand back at her and swings roughly and—
Koala wakes with a start, hand clutching the fabric over her heart and she shakes and pants and smiles wide impulsively.
Just the dreams, just the dreams sometimes. She touches her neck and finds it smooth, not buckled with explosives.
Safe.
Safe in a bed that is hers, in a room that is hers, in a crew that is not going to be cruel to her. And yet she can't cry about this. Crying for others is easy, but for herself — it's too frightening. She breathes out, forces back any of the burn in her eyes, and shuffles out of bed, still in the jumpsuit she wears as pajamas. She really should put her shoes on. Nobody likes dirty little feet on their clean floors.
She slips her shoes on, one at a time, and rises. She's not sure if others are sleeping for the 'night', because there really isn't a night, but it's undoubtedly not daytime on the moon, so people are more likely asleep than not. Instead she goes out and makes herself a glass of tea and a small bowl of food, and tries to calm herself with it. There's an uneasiness about her as she sits in the kitchen, hair a bit wild and sweat on her brow. But she slowly does calm over time, is slowly able to eat with a steadier hand. The adrenaline has tapered off, but her mind is restless.
Going back to sleep sounds scary.
She gets up and wanders aimlessly around the Iskaulit... anywhere, really. She doesn't want to go to the planet (it's dark! nobody should like the dark), but she doesn't want to be standing still, certainly. Some motion will do her good. Somewhere to focus, yes! She simply needs to smile and face her day, and remember that things are so very good. Remember, papa would like for you to be happy. Remember, he told you never to cry. You've already broken that, but... But! You can still be strong!
One can find her on the Huntress, or in her aimless wandering from bar to gym to garden to - anywhere, really, on the Iskaulit.
She is rather determined to occupy herself with what everyone else is doing.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Huntress and Iskaulit
When: May 16th-ish. (Prose or action brackets both welcome!)
(Warnings for child abuse and traumatic dream stuff.)
Small fishing boat, it's on fire.
She wants to jump but she's not a good swimmer. Someone grabs her by her legs, holds her like a prized fish, and she flails. 'Got a live one,' Blurry Face says, 'This one'll make for a fine addition.' Dad doesn't call out for her anymore, because Dad is — wake up, wake up, wake up, open your eyes...!
Bright lights, classical music, Koala drags her feet. The stage is lit, hurts her eyes, she swears she sees her mom and dad sitting in the front row. Do they see she's scared? She just wants to go home. She's the smallest on the stage, and she sells for more than she's ever heard; she remembers thinking coins in a jar were pretty and shined like treasure, but it's really not a lot now that she hears the other prices on other chained people, some shaped human and others shaped not. Someone near her is dancing and performing on command, but they don't look like they enjoy dancing much at all. Mom and dad watch and clap and smile. Koala pulls at her metal collar and blubbers miserably, fat hot tears down her face. Why aren't they coming up to the stage and taking her back? She's not anybody's but theirs. She wants to go home.
She forgot dad's rules. His dying rule. Whatever you do, Koala, don't cry. They won't like it when you cry, she understands now. They see it as weak, annoying. But she can't stop. Why can't she stop sobbing? She never sobbed in the auction house...! The master, holding his ring of keys, steps forward and lumbers high above her (he shouldn't be here, he should be in the clouds, in his mansion with his family who refuses to breathe peasant air), and says sharply, 'I hate crying little brats,' and then he pulls his hand back at her and swings roughly and—
Koala wakes with a start, hand clutching the fabric over her heart and she shakes and pants and smiles wide impulsively.
Just the dreams, just the dreams sometimes. She touches her neck and finds it smooth, not buckled with explosives.
Safe.
Safe in a bed that is hers, in a room that is hers, in a crew that is not going to be cruel to her. And yet she can't cry about this. Crying for others is easy, but for herself — it's too frightening. She breathes out, forces back any of the burn in her eyes, and shuffles out of bed, still in the jumpsuit she wears as pajamas. She really should put her shoes on. Nobody likes dirty little feet on their clean floors.
She slips her shoes on, one at a time, and rises. She's not sure if others are sleeping for the 'night', because there really isn't a night, but it's undoubtedly not daytime on the moon, so people are more likely asleep than not. Instead she goes out and makes herself a glass of tea and a small bowl of food, and tries to calm herself with it. There's an uneasiness about her as she sits in the kitchen, hair a bit wild and sweat on her brow. But she slowly does calm over time, is slowly able to eat with a steadier hand. The adrenaline has tapered off, but her mind is restless.
Going back to sleep sounds scary.
She gets up and wanders aimlessly around the Iskaulit... anywhere, really. She doesn't want to go to the planet (it's dark! nobody should like the dark), but she doesn't want to be standing still, certainly. Some motion will do her good. Somewhere to focus, yes! She simply needs to smile and face her day, and remember that things are so very good. Remember, papa would like for you to be happy. Remember, he told you never to cry. You've already broken that, but... But! You can still be strong!
One can find her on the Huntress, or in her aimless wandering from bar to gym to garden to - anywhere, really, on the Iskaulit.
She is rather determined to occupy herself with what everyone else is doing.
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