[ Her rifle broken over the head of a soldier, Violet's own knife flies free. She doesn't find the same thrill in it Mordred seems to. If anything, she's the polar opposite; entierly silent and devoid of expression.
She doesn't notice the call. Doesn't register the command until Mordred grabs her hand (the metal prosthetic clanks more noticeably under a strong grip, but Violet only feels herself being dragged). She doesn't fight being hustled onto the boat, neither does she put any effort in getting on.
She feels. Strange. Disoriented. There was never a beach, never a boat that took her away from the fighting. She can't feel her arms, yet the prosthetic clank softly as she curls her fingers into a fist and relaxes them again. She doesn't know what to do, so she looks at Mordered, waiting for her next orders. ]
no subject
She doesn't notice the call. Doesn't register the command until Mordred grabs her hand (the metal prosthetic clanks more noticeably under a strong grip, but Violet only feels herself being dragged). She doesn't fight being hustled onto the boat, neither does she put any effort in getting on.
She feels. Strange. Disoriented. There was never a beach, never a boat that took her away from the fighting. She can't feel her arms, yet the prosthetic clank softly as she curls her fingers into a fist and relaxes them again. She doesn't know what to do, so she looks at Mordered, waiting for her next orders. ]