[ -- it jars him. An awakening, too violent and too sudden to sort through. The arena short-circuits, the pressure wave of noise and heat washes over his body (suddenly real, suddenly vulnerable). Someone, somewhere, that he knows but has never met, dies. It's loss he's never wanted to feel again. Anakin, he can feel his name. It sounds too much like Annika, and she's a ghost in his system he's never required the presence of, and yet here she is. Hovering bloodied and desperate in his mind, scared and lost and hungry for something so that she would never feel powerless again... the way so many scrabbling people are now. There are cries and screams --
he raises his head, to see Lexa across the ruined arena. Her hands on the champion's arm. By sheer force of will, he's on his feet and moving across the debris and the bodies. She speaks - and it gives him a moment's pause. ] Goodbye, champion.
[ It's what he musters, in the face of it all, drawing himself up - and wounded as he is, he hides it, turning injury from view as he lifts his chin. Lexa and the young Sam have it from here. As he said to Bellamy -- he has no need nor desire to add his voice to those who's eyes have been focused on a singular prize. Instead. He turns aside, and his attention falls on the room, on the wounded, on the other Hosts -- ]
no subject
he raises his head, to see Lexa across the ruined arena. Her hands on the champion's arm. By sheer force of will, he's on his feet and moving across the debris and the bodies. She speaks - and it gives him a moment's pause. ] Goodbye, champion.
[ It's what he musters, in the face of it all, drawing himself up - and wounded as he is, he hides it, turning injury from view as he lifts his chin. Lexa and the young Sam have it from here. As he said to Bellamy -- he has no need nor desire to add his voice to those who's eyes have been focused on a singular prize. Instead. He turns aside, and his attention falls on the room, on the wounded, on the other Hosts -- ]