she poured the drinks and she poured the power - diamond girl who could talk for hours
Living under the pretence of being an emotionless trophy wife had seriously depleted Mrs. Emerson’s happy thoughts but now that Tina was on the run she began to allow herself to feel again. The first emotion she had indulged in was a rather vitriolic sense of anguish that she’d lost her little game - especially when she had only recently congratulated herself at playing it so well. The second was embarrassment that of all the freedom fighters in the whole of America it had been Holly J Sinclair who saved her from the firing squad.
It was that burning sense of shame - she couldn’t stand the idea of being obligated to Holly J for saving her life - had led Tina to part ways with her rescuer fairly early on. She’d accepted medical treatment with as much broken pride as she could summon but had insisted that she made her own way in the world from there on.
Tina’s toes, meticulously broken one by one in such a way as to cause her as much pain as possible, refused to be jammed into shoes. After years of pretending to forsake her flying powers in the name of social respectability she had been enjoying the rediscovery of flight as she made her escape from the detention facility - except landing had turned into an agonizing ordeal. Tina sat on the pavement for hours at a time, desperately wanting to fly but knowing that it wasn’t worth the pain of landing. Her bare, broken feet were black and blue and after a week living out in the cold they became grotesquely swollen. She tried to gingerly wrap them up in newspapers and string, if only so she didn’t have to look at them. Shame and disgust started to become familiar emotions.
She assumed that there were people looking for her. Blonde twenty-somethings in orange prison jumpsuits with preternatural glows weren’t exactly hard to spot in a crowd but Tina’s sense of self-preservation was fast beginning to fail. Once she tried going back to the her resistance cell’s HQ but the choking smoke and stench of human fat amidst the rubble of what little remained had turned her stomach. Tina hadn't dared lie to her torturers and now she was confronted with the awful reality of her confessions. Thus guilt became the latest addition to her new list of common emotions.
So Tina remained in New York, sleeping in dumpsters and huddling on muddy sidewalks, begging for change and squabbling with other vagrants. Food was an issue in itself. Torturous beatings had broken too many of her teeth to allow her to chew on anything more than bread. Whatever she found she tore into little pieces - a monumental task when your fingernails had been methodically torn off and the fleshy nailbeds that remained tended to bleed at the slightest provocation - and posted it between her split, puffy lips. It was a grotesquely comedic sight to behold: Tina, who had been so proud and superficially pretty, reduced to begging on the unforgiving New York streets and sucking on lumps of crusts for sustenance.
It began to rain. Tina pitifully held her stale bread out to catch a few raindrops and desperately hoped the moisture would soften it up some. She pulled her hoodie back from her face and let the rain fall on her matted hair. Rainfall meant she was outside, and outside meant she was - for now - free.
It was that burning sense of shame - she couldn’t stand the idea of being obligated to Holly J for saving her life - had led Tina to part ways with her rescuer fairly early on. She’d accepted medical treatment with as much broken pride as she could summon but had insisted that she made her own way in the world from there on.
Tina’s toes, meticulously broken one by one in such a way as to cause her as much pain as possible, refused to be jammed into shoes. After years of pretending to forsake her flying powers in the name of social respectability she had been enjoying the rediscovery of flight as she made her escape from the detention facility - except landing had turned into an agonizing ordeal. Tina sat on the pavement for hours at a time, desperately wanting to fly but knowing that it wasn’t worth the pain of landing. Her bare, broken feet were black and blue and after a week living out in the cold they became grotesquely swollen. She tried to gingerly wrap them up in newspapers and string, if only so she didn’t have to look at them. Shame and disgust started to become familiar emotions.
She assumed that there were people looking for her. Blonde twenty-somethings in orange prison jumpsuits with preternatural glows weren’t exactly hard to spot in a crowd but Tina’s sense of self-preservation was fast beginning to fail. Once she tried going back to the her resistance cell’s HQ but the choking smoke and stench of human fat amidst the rubble of what little remained had turned her stomach. Tina hadn't dared lie to her torturers and now she was confronted with the awful reality of her confessions. Thus guilt became the latest addition to her new list of common emotions.
So Tina remained in New York, sleeping in dumpsters and huddling on muddy sidewalks, begging for change and squabbling with other vagrants. Food was an issue in itself. Torturous beatings had broken too many of her teeth to allow her to chew on anything more than bread. Whatever she found she tore into little pieces - a monumental task when your fingernails had been methodically torn off and the fleshy nailbeds that remained tended to bleed at the slightest provocation - and posted it between her split, puffy lips. It was a grotesquely comedic sight to behold: Tina, who had been so proud and superficially pretty, reduced to begging on the unforgiving New York streets and sucking on lumps of crusts for sustenance.
It began to rain. Tina pitifully held her stale bread out to catch a few raindrops and desperately hoped the moisture would soften it up some. She pulled her hoodie back from her face and let the rain fall on her matted hair. Rainfall meant she was outside, and outside meant she was - for now - free.