[ lara croft thinks herself too strong to cry. she thinks of herself as composed and capable, after surviving yamatai. she's a survivor.
lara croft is a survivor.
it's a mantra she tells herself as she stands strong and head held because it's the only thing she can do. her name's cleared. they all know now. they've made their mistake, just like she did - the cycle continues.
she's a survivor. she can do this. she won't put anyone else in danger and this is the way things have to be. luke's going in there with her and she won't do it, she can't do anything to hurt him. staff, and yet his name is cleared of murder. laughable.
some system.
some fucking system.
she walks with long, determined strides, and she's in, right after luke. she stops only when she's inside the chamber, her expression calm for only a moment. she thinks of her father, and she wonders what it is was like for him in his final moments. so the crofts have a thing for being executed, it seems. she follows in his footsteps, truly. the stark white is blinding and she feels tears threatening to spill but no. she's strong. she can do this. she will do this. her father would proud of her. it's no different from him. he would be proud, he would be proud, would be proud.
lara croft is a survivor.
her strength strength is a metaphorical cauldron bubbling over, a roiling boil that is spilling and burning everything in sight and the white that glares at her is fire in her blood, a reminder of her impending death. this is it. this is it. she's a survivor, she's a survivor, she's a survivor, she wishes she had her pistols with all her weak, cowering heart.
luke's words are dull. they're dull, distant, like a crackling radio. she wants to go closer, to discover what he's saying, so she looks at him, dumbfounded. anything she wants to say?
... actually, yes. she turns back to the glass. ]
What was that about never being wrong? Franziska?
[ it isn't strength that fuels her. no. it's rage. a dull realization hits her like a boulder toppling over her head as she climbs. ]
You fucking cunt! [ it's a bellow from deep inside her, pulled out with all her strength. lara croft is a survivor. ] Go to hell!
Learn from your fucking mistakes and think clearer next time. Let us be the last innocent people here.
[ "us".
luke didn't do anything. god, no. she can't accept it. staff... he was staff, and she thinks of the boy in the fountain, the boy who spoke ancient greek. the boy with the enchanted chuck taylors. ]
Please.
[ her ankle monitor stays.
she was right, staf can deactivate their monitors.
no subject
lara croft is a survivor.
it's a mantra she tells herself as she stands strong and head held because it's the only thing she can do. her name's cleared. they all know now. they've made their mistake, just like she did - the cycle continues.
she's a survivor. she can do this. she won't put anyone else in danger and this is the way things have to be. luke's going in there with her and she won't do it, she can't do anything to hurt him. staff, and yet his name is cleared of murder. laughable.
some system.
some fucking system.
she walks with long, determined strides, and she's in, right after luke. she stops only when she's inside the chamber, her expression calm for only a moment. she thinks of her father, and she wonders what it is was like for him in his final moments. so the crofts have a thing for being executed, it seems. she follows in his footsteps, truly. the stark white is blinding and she feels tears threatening to spill but no. she's strong. she can do this. she will do this. her father would proud of her. it's no different from him. he would be proud, he would be proud, would be proud.
lara croft is a survivor.
her strength strength is a metaphorical cauldron bubbling over, a roiling boil that is spilling and burning everything in sight and the white that glares at her is fire in her blood, a reminder of her impending death. this is it. this is it. she's a survivor, she's a survivor, she's a survivor, she wishes she had her pistols with all her weak, cowering heart.
luke's words are dull. they're dull, distant, like a crackling radio. she wants to go closer, to discover what he's saying, so she looks at him, dumbfounded. anything she wants to say?
... actually, yes. she turns back to the glass. ]
What was that about never being wrong? Franziska?
[ it isn't strength that fuels her. no. it's rage. a dull realization hits her like a boulder toppling over her head as she climbs. ]
You fucking cunt! [ it's a bellow from deep inside her, pulled out with all her strength. lara croft is a survivor. ] Go to hell!
Learn from your fucking mistakes and think clearer next time. Let us be the last innocent people here.
[ "us".
luke didn't do anything. god, no. she can't accept it. staff... he was staff, and she thinks of the boy in the fountain, the boy who spoke ancient greek. the boy with the enchanted chuck taylors. ]
Please.
[ her ankle monitor stays.
she was right, staf can deactivate their monitors.
she thinks of yamatai. ]