( deep under the Tree of Life's labyrinthine roots, in a dark and damp facsimile of the underground, things begin to come to a head. seeing that the chase isn't immediately resuming, john quickly tries to take stock: manon stands furthest a head at a branching in the path, and the centaur and her rider stand between them. he recognizes dextera, who also seems to take up what he interprets as a potentially defensible position between those closer to the foot of the incline and manon, further down the tunnel. cid — who he knows more from speaking by way of Communion with Zenith and less personally — is also there with him, along with zhongli, who is a perfect stranger to him. nonetheless, he seems ready and willing to help john up from his fall, so he at the very least doesn't seem hostile — something he decides to keep in mind, even if he didn't end up needing his help to get to his feet.
john is beginning to approach once more when manon turns to the centaur and her once-rider; the words that sound out dully down the tunnel arrest his progress, however, causing an icy chill to run wildly through his veins. his eyes widen, his mouth falls open, ) No, no, that's not why I — ( but it doesn't matter, how could he expect it to matter for someone like hayame? he watches as she draws an arrow from its quiver with perfect, practiced fluidity, nocking it in the bow and drawing it back in so little time he could have scarcely began to try to avoid it even if he'd thought to.
but he wouldn't. what's the point? he knows almost nothing about her, but he'd had enough close calls with avatars of the Hunt to know exactly what it felt like to be prey.
so what little reaction time he does have, he uses to brace himself. for this, too, there really isn't much point. the arrow looses, sings through the air, and thuds into his shoulder with enough force to send him sprawling back a pace or so — it even goes so far as to bury the arrowhead into the wood of a nearby root, pinning him in place. he's been stabbed before. he's been horribly burned, trapped in an endless state of vertigo, half-way infested with worms that had dug their way into his flesh, crushed on all sides in the dark heart of the Buried... he's never been shot. it's new, and even though the Eye makes sure his body is far more resilient than that of a typical human, it does nothing for pain. he cries out in very real, very human anguish, scrabbling aimlessly for a half-second before his hands reach up to grasp at the shaft of the arrow, already coming away slick with blood that pools from the wound and saturates through layers of clothes like a crimson flower blooming. it makes it hard to gain purchase, but even when he feels like he has some — it's obvious there's nothing he can do to pull the arrowhead out of the root behind him, so there's certainly nothing he can do to to escape this.
what else is new? he finds himself thinking bitterly.
his breaths are coming quick and ragged with pain and adrenaline, hands shaking where they try to grasp at the arrow. if there's nothing he can do... the only thing left for him to do is speak. it's difficult — it hurts, causing sharp pain to radiate from his shoulder in addition to a marrow-deep ache that spreads even further, but he forces out the words in-between serrated breathing, ) I want to hear the rest of what you have to say, you - you damn bloody fool — I could care less about what happens to you afterwards, could - eugh, ( he grits in pain for a half-second, ) care less about what Yima wants — ( he hasn't even met her!! ) I only - just got here, and immediately - immediately after making a decision to join a "side," I learn that there might be some hidden, ugly truth beneath it... Something I damn well would likely live to regret not learning now, when I - had the chance!
I'm not living in ignorance anymore, not when there's something I can do about it, ( he grates out with a bone-deep conviction that reaches back much further than this moment, down to the very origins of his time at the Institute and everything that had set him on the path to what he is right now, )That's why I'm here!
no subject
john is beginning to approach once more when manon turns to the centaur and her once-rider; the words that sound out dully down the tunnel arrest his progress, however, causing an icy chill to run wildly through his veins. his eyes widen, his mouth falls open, ) No, no, that's not why I — ( but it doesn't matter, how could he expect it to matter for someone like hayame? he watches as she draws an arrow from its quiver with perfect, practiced fluidity, nocking it in the bow and drawing it back in so little time he could have scarcely began to try to avoid it even if he'd thought to.
but he wouldn't. what's the point? he knows almost nothing about her, but he'd had enough close calls with avatars of the Hunt to know exactly what it felt like to be prey.
so what little reaction time he does have, he uses to brace himself. for this, too, there really isn't much point. the arrow looses, sings through the air, and thuds into his shoulder with enough force to send him sprawling back a pace or so — it even goes so far as to bury the arrowhead into the wood of a nearby root, pinning him in place. he's been stabbed before. he's been horribly burned, trapped in an endless state of vertigo, half-way infested with worms that had dug their way into his flesh, crushed on all sides in the dark heart of the Buried... he's never been shot. it's new, and even though the Eye makes sure his body is far more resilient than that of a typical human, it does nothing for pain. he cries out in very real, very human anguish, scrabbling aimlessly for a half-second before his hands reach up to grasp at the shaft of the arrow, already coming away slick with blood that pools from the wound and saturates through layers of clothes like a crimson flower blooming. it makes it hard to gain purchase, but even when he feels like he has some — it's obvious there's nothing he can do to pull the arrowhead out of the root behind him, so there's certainly nothing he can do to to escape this.
what else is new? he finds himself thinking bitterly.
his breaths are coming quick and ragged with pain and adrenaline, hands shaking where they try to grasp at the arrow. if there's nothing he can do... the only thing left for him to do is speak. it's difficult — it hurts, causing sharp pain to radiate from his shoulder in addition to a marrow-deep ache that spreads even further, but he forces out the words in-between serrated breathing, ) I want to hear the rest of what you have to say, you - you damn bloody fool — I could care less about what happens to you afterwards, could - eugh, ( he grits in pain for a half-second, ) care less about what Yima wants — ( he hasn't even met her!! ) I only - just got here, and immediately - immediately after making a decision to join a "side," I learn that there might be some hidden, ugly truth beneath it... Something I damn well would likely live to regret not learning now, when I - had the chance!
I'm not living in ignorance anymore, not when there's something I can do about it, ( he grates out with a bone-deep conviction that reaches back much further than this moment, down to the very origins of his time at the Institute and everything that had set him on the path to what he is right now, ) That's why I'm here!