[ I'm equally chill with brackets or prose, hit me up with whatever! u can also tag me w/something completely different if none of these strike your fancy. ]
(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH
At least the ecosystem is the same, Aloy thinks grimly. All of this is very hard to swallow, from the 'undead lords' to the 'time travel' business, but she feels grounded by the similarities to the Burning Shores: the humidity; the smell of the sea; the decaying, half-sunk buildings. Picking her way through decaying infrastructure isn't anything new either, but wading through stagnant water still is not something she really enjoys.
"I almost miss the megalomaniacal immortals," she starts to say to no one in particular, when she suddenly goes still and quiet, tilting her head as if to listen. It's abrupt, so if someone is not looking where they're going, they might just walk into her—or at least find her obliviously in the way.
THEY SLEEP
Aloy is deeply uncomfortable feigning grief around real people mourning real deaths, so she just observes weirdly from a distance, which does not at all make everyone else uncomfortable. It's only when the whispers starts to drift over—empty funerary boats and scratch marks on the lids—that she muscles her way into the throng, touching the silver triangle at her temple.
"No body," she mutters to herself, her eyes darting along the vacant cavity like she's reading some invisible clues. "But that's only possible if..."
Ignoring the wave of displeasure from the mourners, she pushes through to study the next boat. And the next. Dread swells across her features.
ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT
Aloy has fought and killed countless machines and countless men, but these things are not either. These things defy logic, and her brain is struggling to find an explanation even as she sends a fire arrow streaking across the sky to land between one of the treacly, black figures and a fleeing victim.
"Move!" she shouts, nocking another arrow as she leaps to an outcropping, and then across to a boat. It takes her a second to get her footing in the rolling waters, but she recovers quickly and scans for the next person she can help.
aloy / horizon / tourist
(DON'T) HOLD YOUR BREATH
"I almost miss the megalomaniacal immortals," she starts to say to no one in particular, when she suddenly goes still and quiet, tilting her head as if to listen. It's abrupt, so if someone is not looking where they're going, they might just walk into her—or at least find her obliviously in the way.
THEY SLEEP
"No body," she mutters to herself, her eyes darting along the vacant cavity like she's reading some invisible clues. "But that's only possible if..."
Ignoring the wave of displeasure from the mourners, she pushes through to study the next boat. And the next. Dread swells across her features.
ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT
"Move!" she shouts, nocking another arrow as she leaps to an outcropping, and then across to a boat. It takes her a second to get her footing in the rolling waters, but she recovers quickly and scans for the next person she can help.