[ Accepting of the outcome as she is, she still hates it— that she had to watch another person die before her eyes, and someone she really cares about, at that. Things shouldn't be this way. In a perfect world, she could prevent things like this from happening, from people like Gen or Kaeya or herself from ever being pushed to kill. For a brief moment, she wishes she could've taken the burden from the two of them - knowing, intimately, from their connection how affected they are... that makes her feel sick. It'd be fine, she thinks (surely, it would be, it'd have to be), she wouldn't have minded; what's another load of blood on her hands, when she's sunk in it to the waist? At least then, Gen and Kaeya might not be suffering as much as they are now.
Misa tries to make sense of the flashes of imagery and thick, dense emotions coming from the three of them— white tiles, stark red, a depth of despair. And without the overwhelming rage that had been coming from Amos clouding up the connection between them, there's a sudden eerie clarity to the concoction of grief and suffering being emitted from the three of them - it's disorienting, almost.
But not as disorienting as the agony in her right arm, and the paralyzing shock of pain on her left side, which makes each breath harder to take than the last. All the intensity of her injuries comes rushing into her, with the immediate threat out of the way and the adrenaline coursing through her blood beginning to lessen in efficacy; she lets out a weak cry after Gen speaks, all her remaining energy being poured simply into enduring. Her teeth are gritted painfully hard when she can bear to wheeze out a few words, tears flowing unbidden from her eyes, streaking through the mess of blood and gore still smeared messily there. ]
Wait... can't you bring someone here, instead...?
[ She sounds— panicked, at the prospect of being moved or picked up. She's never, ever been in this much pain before, and naturally, recoils at the idea of making it worse, even temporarily. Whenever Kaeya is close enough, she grasps at what's left of his clothes desperately with her functioning hand, as if begging him not to jostle her. Somewhere, she knows that logically, that's just not how things work— in the regular world, she'd have to get in an ambulance somehow, right? But knowing that doesn't keep her from irrational paranoia, nor from a desperate, last-ditch effort to avoid more suffering. ]
Hold on.... I can't...
[ Her protests are half-baked, but it feels like— what if she can't make it there? She feels she's reacting appropriately dramatically, unsure of how serious the blow to her side is. Her distress aside, there's actually nothing she can do to prevent either of them moving her - there's no meaningful objection she can make outside of her tearful pleas. ]
no subject
Misa tries to make sense of the flashes of imagery and thick, dense emotions coming from the three of them— white tiles, stark red, a depth of despair. And without the overwhelming rage that had been coming from Amos clouding up the connection between them, there's a sudden eerie clarity to the concoction of grief and suffering being emitted from the three of them - it's disorienting, almost.
But not as disorienting as the agony in her right arm, and the paralyzing shock of pain on her left side, which makes each breath harder to take than the last. All the intensity of her injuries comes rushing into her, with the immediate threat out of the way and the adrenaline coursing through her blood beginning to lessen in efficacy; she lets out a weak cry after Gen speaks, all her remaining energy being poured simply into enduring. Her teeth are gritted painfully hard when she can bear to wheeze out a few words, tears flowing unbidden from her eyes, streaking through the mess of blood and gore still smeared messily there. ]
Wait... can't you bring someone here, instead...?
[ She sounds— panicked, at the prospect of being moved or picked up. She's never, ever been in this much pain before, and naturally, recoils at the idea of making it worse, even temporarily. Whenever Kaeya is close enough, she grasps at what's left of his clothes desperately with her functioning hand, as if begging him not to jostle her. Somewhere, she knows that logically, that's just not how things work— in the regular world, she'd have to get in an ambulance somehow, right? But knowing that doesn't keep her from irrational paranoia, nor from a desperate, last-ditch effort to avoid more suffering. ]
Hold on.... I can't...
[ Her protests are half-baked, but it feels like— what if she can't make it there? She feels she's reacting appropriately dramatically, unsure of how serious the blow to her side is. Her distress aside, there's actually nothing she can do to prevent either of them moving her - there's no meaningful objection she can make outside of her tearful pleas. ]