Roaki flinched when Quinn lunged at the bars. She hadn’t expected anyone would come down here, and she’d just about made peace with the idea of spending whatever was left of her life in silence. So, as much as Quinn’s presence surprised her, what had made her flinch wasn’t the anger in her eye, or the dull clanging of the bars—it was the look on her face. It was that, lurking beneath the rage, and the horror, was something a thousand times more terrifying. 

Pity. 

“[color=ffe63d]…because I thought you'd like the company…and I wanted to give you a piece of cake. But [i]this...[/i][/color]”

She was being [i]pitied[/i]. By [i]Quinnlash[/i]. 

“[color=ffe63d]I'm getting you [i]out[/i] of here, Roaki.[/color]” She watched Quinn’s knuckles whiten around the metal bar, speaking through a tight cage of teeth. “[color=ffe63d]I know you hate me. But I'm getting you out [i]tonight.[/i] And that's a fucking [i]promise.[/i][/color]”

Roaki’s jaw clenched, popped. Every muscle was tense and sore and her bones creaked at the [i]thought[/i] of moving but she did. Hunched, slow, she pulled herself along the hard ground. The faint warmth of inaction was shaken off like dust, and fresh, new cold found her. She ignored it. 

At the bars, she looked up at Quinn. She’d been short before, she was used to that, but this was different. She’d been [i]brought[/i] this low, hers was the view of a worm, in every sense. Staring up at her, it was hard not see the one-eyed girl as a kind of hawk, or a vulture, hungry and circling. For a moment she was back in Casoban, looking over her shoulder at [i]Ablaze[/i], her arm pinned, burning. She felt that desperation again, the flashes of pain even in the leg she’d not had for years. 

Chiefly, she felt the fear. Quinnlash Loughvein scared her, and because Roaki had spent her entire life having her face smashed into the things she was afraid of, she reacted in the way she knew best. 

She got angry. She got really, [i]really[/i] angry. 

With a lurch she pushed herself up, just enough to her her hand around Quinn’s wrist. Half leveraging herself against the ground, and half letting the girl’s weight pull her, she managed to bring Quinn down and herself up enough to be at-eyes with her. She held tight, hand wrapped in the dry-bloodied gauze that ran up her sleeve, all the way up her arm and around her neck to hide all the new fades from the modium extraction. Her nails dug shallowly into Quinn’s wrist, but she wished, she wished so much, that she had the strength to snap the bone. She would. 

“[color=ec008c]I…[/color]”

Her voice withered into a rasp, but she didn’t fall silent because of the strain. Rather, she didn’t know what to say. She was angry, and she hated Quinn; that should have been enough. It usually was. Of all the things Roaki had struggled with, articulating her anger—effectively if not exactly eloquent—had never been one of them. 

The longer she stared silently, the worse it got. [color=ec008c][i]Hate her,[/i][/color] she thought. [color=ec008c][i]Hate her! Tell her how much you hate her! Tell how much you want to rip her apart! Get you out of here? She [/i]put[i] you here! She—[/i][/color]

Ah. There it was. The realization was harsh and bold and would not be denied.

[color=ec008c][i]No, she didn’t. [/i]You[i] put you here.[/i][/color] Not an easy thing to admit, but a reality she’d been squaring herself with since she’d tumbled out of her seat in the cockpit. [color=ec008c][i]You lost, you fucking worm. This is your fault. You deserve this.[/i][/color]

Shame filled her. Blessedly her face was already reddened by the cold, so it wasn’t as obvious outwardly as it was to her. Heat came to her, but it was in her eyes and she absolutely refused to entertain it. She had begged the pilot who had cut her out of the cockpit, and screamed with the doctor who had…excised her growths. She would not, under any circumstances, [i]cry[/i] in front of Quinnlash Loughvein. 

“[color=ec008c]I don’t…[/color]”

Thankfully she didn’t get the chance. 

There was shouting from beyond the distant door, which flew open to reveal two familiar faces. One was an older woman who had been at the [i]Henkersmahl[/i], and the other…damn the luck. They both came sprinting, their expressions a mix of panic and worry and, when they saw her, burgeoning fury. 

“[color=skyblue]Get away from her![/color]” shouted the other pilot. She slammed into the bars, wrenching Roaki’s hand from Quinn’s wrist. There was murder in her eyes. 

Roaki fell to the ground with a grunt, dragging herself back from the bars. The other woman pulled Quinn away, looking her over frantically. She patted her down with gentle hands, and, evidently finding proof that Roaki was as ineffectual a warrior as she suspected, sighed with relief and hugged Quinn tight. 

Something within her burned to see that. She looked away. 

“[color=gray]What happened?[/color]” the woman asked. She was breathing raggedly, her words were thin and strained. “[color=gray]God, Quinn, you scared the crap out of us.[/color]”