Cara was not having a good day. Yesterday had been...unpleasant, the incident at the Onsen being followed by fleeting, yet vivid apparitions of things she'd done, things done to her, and more appearances of that other version of herself, ready with a cutting comment, a quick fist, or a quicker agiel, the embodiment of an ideal Mord'Sith. Of course, that wasn't the worst of it, it wasn't like she hadn't learnt to endure either physical or verbal blows long before. The other other her, the nine year old who who didn't say a word but just stood there looking at her, that she'd had little defence against.

Then she'd woken up, and, well, given she'd spent years beating down and repressing every single scrap of her natural inclinations towards empathy and compassion as a survival tactic, it wasn't entirely a surprise that she'd ended up pressed defensively in a corner, back to the wall, hands against her temples in a futile attempt to keep some, any of it out.

After her class had finished, Cara stayed at the Onsen, hoping a good long soak would do something, anything for the tension that'd been making her twitchy her up since she'd woken sweaty and panting for breath (and not in a fun way) that morning. Gradually she relaxed enough to let her eyes drift shut.

Some time later, she heard the faint splash of another person lowering themselves into the water, then a hand gently stroked along her cheek. "That better be who I think it is," she drawled, not bothering to open her eyes, because first, she missed her girlfriend, and second, almost anyone else doing that uninvited was going to lose the hand.

( Nope. )

So. After spending nearly an entire day either brawling with Kahlan's blonde double or fending off her advances, Cara had finally made it back this fake version of the island just in time to hear Zinyak's second announcement. Very shortly thereafter, she felt a familiar sting when resting a hand on her agiels.

( Needless to say, she wasn't in the main simulation very long. )

[open, if you don't mind some SP]

So Cara and Atton's 'beat up the aliens' plan did not go as anticipated, and now she found herself blinking awake.

Handcuffed to a wooden chair.

( In which Cara is creeped upon by an evil, gay Bridget Regan )

[Oh, like I wasn't going to do this to her.]

Cara's bed was at that perfect sweet spot between soft and firm, warm but not uncomfortably so, and she couldn't recall the sheets ever feeling more luxurious against her skin as she sprawled out along the mattress. Which of course was the problem, as there should have been far less sprawling and far more curling up against another warm body. Still half asleep, she patted along the empty half of the mattress, her frown deepening when she found it far too smooth and devoid of lingering body heat. She couldn't hear running water from the bathroom, or things being moved in the kitchen, and if she'd had to leave in a hurry, Surreal should at least have woken her first.

"Surreal?" she called out, just in case someone thought she was being funny again. As she sat up, her hand automatically fell on the agiel she kept within arms reach of the bed, its handle still and silent under her palm.

Fear curdled Cara's gut and ice ran up her spine as she stared down, her grip now white-knuckled, searching for any sign of the dark veins of magic that should have been spreading under and along her skin. Of the familiar pain that came with the agiel's touch, there wasn't even a dull, muffled echo, instead it was lifeless, just like when Richard had... "Surreal?"

[Open to anyone who might have any reason to be around]

After closing her door, Cara just barely managed to care enough to toe off her (red) boots and pull off her (red) gloves before letting herself collapse on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

That was a week. Even just the confusing parts, let alone where she'd gone along with the completely insane plan, taught a utterly stupid class or done what needed doing.

And of course, that which she would never speak of again.

Even the few genuinely pleasant memories of the week were not actually helping right now.

[Open.]

After the various creatures Cara had spend the last three days killing had finished vanishing, it might have made more sense to head back to the dorms, but the cabins were somewhat closer, and contained the closest thing to a change of clothes Cara actually owned, and she felt a desperate need to get rid of the gore and the Creator-only-knew-what encrusting her skin and leathers.

The notion that certain other things might reappear in the same place they'd vanished from had absolutely no bearing on this decision. Which meant she wasn't the slightest bit disappointed to find out she was wrong there. Really.

[For that one guy.]