[ it's not a scene she's unfamiliar with. no, say rather she is not unfamiliar with beating, malice, torture — but the people, the surroundings, all of it is strange to her, something she's never seen before.
she's so focused on the scene in front of her, a mixture of disgust and dread and the cold calm that comes from hours and hours and hours of practice controlling her emotions running through her veins, that she barely notices there's someone standing next to her.
then, she turns, blinks. he — ]
... Ocelot?
[ her voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. ]
Who are they?
[ not what is this, because she knows all too well what this is. ]
no subject
she's so focused on the scene in front of her, a mixture of disgust and dread and the cold calm that comes from hours and hours and hours of practice controlling her emotions running through her veins, that she barely notices there's someone standing next to her.
then, she turns, blinks. he — ]
... Ocelot?
[ her voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. ]
Who are they?
[ not what is this, because she knows all too well what this is. ]