She was already wondering if this volunteering nonsense was really the good idea it seemed at the time - be a team player! meet new people! get the lay of the land! - but that blood-stained pack Peter Quill seemingly nonchalantly hefts onto his back turns that into real regret. When has she seen real combat, exactly?
The tyrant has seen a lot of combat, seen it from afar, given the orders--
When has this body seen real combat?
An expression of fear flickers across her face for a second before she can remember to keep herself ancillary-calm.
"Right. Then let's go and pick them up." As she says it, she unhooks the pipe from her belt, hefting it in a gloved hand. It's too heavy to swing about in one hand, but carrying it is fine, and it makes her feel better - especially as they come up on that perimeter. It's on the tip of her tongue to ask if he's been here long enough to have any idea where they're going or what they're going to face outside...but her attention is caught by those corpses.
Most are still, the spikes jutting out of their backs the only things keeping them upright. Some, though, some are moving, and she's been told about this, yes, even seen the jerky, slimy way they move from a distance. This is a first, and she can't suppress the disgusted curl of her lip as they move in closer, up to the gate. Closer to the flailing arms, the glistening black ichor draining from them, glutenous as it slides down the thick bars of the gate.
"I remember..." she says, and the words feel and sound like they're being forced out of her throat. "Before Medic put me in the medical coma. I'm sure I remember coughing up something that looked black like that.
"Maybe I'm imagining things."
The gate is blessedly heavy, fortified and weighted down as it is. They have to wave down a guard to get it open, and that it takes multiple people pulling enough to let two people slip through is comforting. (It only occurs to her later on to wonder what happens if the enemy is chasing them from within)
The street beyond is desolate. It reeks of death, and though there is blood on the concrete - everything from dried puddles to streaks like something forcibly dragged itself along the ground - for now there's no movement. Not that she can see, at any rate.
"Do you know what the convoy was carrying? How much use would it be to the enemy?"
Do corpses need supplies? Usually she would have said no, but usually corpses don't walk, either.
no subject
The tyrant has seen a lot of combat, seen it from afar, given the orders--
When has this body seen real combat?
An expression of fear flickers across her face for a second before she can remember to keep herself ancillary-calm.
"Right. Then let's go and pick them up." As she says it, she unhooks the pipe from her belt, hefting it in a gloved hand. It's too heavy to swing about in one hand, but carrying it is fine, and it makes her feel better - especially as they come up on that perimeter. It's on the tip of her tongue to ask if he's been here long enough to have any idea where they're going or what they're going to face outside...but her attention is caught by those corpses.
Most are still, the spikes jutting out of their backs the only things keeping them upright. Some, though, some are moving, and she's been told about this, yes, even seen the jerky, slimy way they move from a distance. This is a first, and she can't suppress the disgusted curl of her lip as they move in closer, up to the gate. Closer to the flailing arms, the glistening black ichor draining from them, glutenous as it slides down the thick bars of the gate.
"I remember..." she says, and the words feel and sound like they're being forced out of her throat. "Before Medic put me in the medical coma. I'm sure I remember coughing up something that looked black like that.
"Maybe I'm imagining things."
The gate is blessedly heavy, fortified and weighted down as it is. They have to wave down a guard to get it open, and that it takes multiple people pulling enough to let two people slip through is comforting. (It only occurs to her later on to wonder what happens if the enemy is chasing them from within)
The street beyond is desolate. It reeks of death, and though there is blood on the concrete - everything from dried puddles to streaks like something forcibly dragged itself along the ground - for now there's no movement. Not that she can see, at any rate.
"Do you know what the convoy was carrying? How much use would it be to the enemy?"
Do corpses need supplies? Usually she would have said no, but usually corpses don't walk, either.