#008 (Wartortle) | Text

[versusseeker]

[It’s that time of year, folks! And Red has an idea.]

secret santa
wnt 2 play?





((Ooc: if your character signs up, Red will inbox them a randomly generated partner and the gift giving can commence!))

sixth quarto. | video; id: cassandra wayne

[cassassin]

[ the camera is on cass in what looks like some kind of crazy rich person home gym, with high ceilings and a wide open space. the place is kind of trashed, though. sparring dummies lie broken on the floor behind her, along with a heavy punching bag broken off of its chain. its side is split open, stuffing spilling out. and that is... definitely a sword stuck in the wall. the damage goes on and on, the place isn't... quite destroyed, but a lot of the equipment is wrecked.

faintly, in the background, music from the nutcracker can be heard.

she's alone, looking... not great. like a barely-contained mess of anger, sadness, exhaustion--she's keeping her expression more or less neutral, but it's clearly a struggle. her knuckles are bruised, cracked and bleeding, and she would have done this over audio but frankly she doesn't care right now, this is as much about venting as letting people know. cassandra's been hitting things for hours, screaming, crying, doing anything to let out the feeling of loss and regret and it's not helping, nothing is working--

she's not thinking clearly, and this is ill-advised on a lot of levels, but fuck it. finally the words come, forced out quickly, as she rests a hand over her eyes. her voice is angry, cracked around the edges--not crying, but she sounds like she might start. ]

Barbara Gordon's gone home. If you knew her. I'm...

[ cassandra pauses, trying to figure out how to finish that sentence, before settling on: ]

Tired. Of losing people. Of... of being the one left standing. [ the anger drains from her tone on the last part of that. there's another pause, before she shakes her head, voice barely above a whisper. ]

Fuck. [ and it ends there. ]