Irritation flares like a firework, bright and sharp in her stomach, growing and hungry in her heart. It is dark and it is sinister and it gnaws and gnaws as a starved dog upon her patience. The woman looks every bit the wolf that she is, there alone in the room. Green eyes seek the window, seek the memories to take her away from the sunflower girl that just keeps on pressing nearer and nearer. They are closed in the room together, closer and closer, her sweet stench filling the warrior's nose until she's ready to puke. No. No.
She can't be trapped in a room with a girl without a brain. Stuck where there's a body and no exit in sight. Some part of her is hostile, snarling. Some part of her is in a mad rush to fly towards the door. Dalmatia urges her lungs to take in air, and then more and more and more until she feels as a blimp ready to explode, stuffed to full of nothing until there can't fit anything more between the atoms that are her and the atoms that are not her. On a heavy exhale, she turns her head, turns to glare. "Do I look like I want to take a walk?" It is a snarl, a warning.
Perhaps that is the most warning she's really ever given anyone.
She really isn't the type to go easy or do anything that she doesn't want to do. Stubborn and resolute. Once her mind is made up there's no changing it. Once she feels like a cornered dog she's more than willing to bite. And there is something so ready to bite in her, ready to slobber and snarl and lunge. It is caged, held on a chain, a leather leash that's fraying more and more with every step Elena takes.
Dalmatia tries to breathe again, sucking oxygen into her lungs, but all she can smell is the girl and so she pants shallowly. Flashes of wet walls. Hints of leering guard's faces. They mix with the golden face of the girl until they are one and the same and she's back in the prison and she's here with the girl and it's awful she can't stand it.
Why couldn't she be let alone with her ghosts?
"Move. Now." It's not a request. The ex-vicarious is a hurricane when she shoves past the other woman, uncaring if she pushes into her, pushes through. The only thing she needs right now is the open space and the sky. The hospital is too small for two people in one room. She can't do it. She can't be inside like that and feel okay.
Behind, there's the telltale sound of tapping feet and she knows that the girl isn't leaving her alone. It irritates her like rubbing a dog's fur the wrong way. Skeletal fingers snap along her spine, sing into her ribs of a sweet darkness that would hold her if she were not here, not with this girl. You wouldn't guess how badly she craves that - a taste of something that is not the inferno constantly burning and yearning within.
And all she can do is move faster through the winding halls towards a doorway that can't open like a gaping wound fast enough.
Beware: I am fearless, and therefore, powerful.
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