Post by kuriboh on Jun 14, 2010 12:13:39 GMT -5
Lilja was beginning to regret taking this assignment at all. Even if Florian was completely under her thumb now, she was still having serious issues.
Namely, she couldn't sleep.
It wasn't an abundance of energy, nor stress or worry, but Lilja was finding it very hard to fall and stay asleep.
While she lay in bed, she'd hear things. Laughter. A woman singing softly. Sometimes the sounds of vehicles or machinery. Now and then, a gunshot. Rarely she'd hear screams. The kind one would hear from the mouth of a person dying in agony, and though she hear them only very rarely, she would never sleep afterwards.
While she lay in bed, she'd smell things. Mostly the oppressive, pungent smell of cooking garlic. She didn't mind it so much, but she did find it strange. Now and then, she'd think she smelled blood. But blood smelled metallic, and she was sleeping next to a metal bulkhead. That was a satisfying enough answer.
She'd try to be productive with the extra time - paperwork, updating notes, letters back to the Institute. But fatigue would take her eventually.
Since returning to the fleet, her dreams had been a mishmash of things. Sometimes she'd dream she was in a mobile suit. Sometimes she'd dream of being back on Granada. Sometimes she'd see people - the Doctor, usually. Sometimes the back of a head covered in black hair - probably Contessa. Never Florian himself, oddly.
The dreams always ended badly. She could never remember them, but she'd wake up with cold sweats, white knuckles and teeth clenched hard enough to hurt - if she wasn't screaming.
Almost on instinct she'd look over at Florian to see if he'd been at all disturbed by her sudden movements. He'd always be still sleeping soundly. He'd always be smiling.
Namely, she couldn't sleep.
It wasn't an abundance of energy, nor stress or worry, but Lilja was finding it very hard to fall and stay asleep.
While she lay in bed, she'd hear things. Laughter. A woman singing softly. Sometimes the sounds of vehicles or machinery. Now and then, a gunshot. Rarely she'd hear screams. The kind one would hear from the mouth of a person dying in agony, and though she hear them only very rarely, she would never sleep afterwards.
While she lay in bed, she'd smell things. Mostly the oppressive, pungent smell of cooking garlic. She didn't mind it so much, but she did find it strange. Now and then, she'd think she smelled blood. But blood smelled metallic, and she was sleeping next to a metal bulkhead. That was a satisfying enough answer.
She'd try to be productive with the extra time - paperwork, updating notes, letters back to the Institute. But fatigue would take her eventually.
Since returning to the fleet, her dreams had been a mishmash of things. Sometimes she'd dream she was in a mobile suit. Sometimes she'd dream of being back on Granada. Sometimes she'd see people - the Doctor, usually. Sometimes the back of a head covered in black hair - probably Contessa. Never Florian himself, oddly.
The dreams always ended badly. She could never remember them, but she'd wake up with cold sweats, white knuckles and teeth clenched hard enough to hurt - if she wasn't screaming.
Almost on instinct she'd look over at Florian to see if he'd been at all disturbed by her sudden movements. He'd always be still sleeping soundly. He'd always be smiling.