Sandstorm {Discontinued}{Rewritten}

21. Anger, Bloodlusts, and Spywork

The next morning Deserey had trouble getting out of bed. It happened more often than not, especially on her bad days. She could spend a whole twelve hours just laying in bed, wasting away if no one bothered her. And she would be okay with that usually. If anything she’d feel a bit useless, since she wouldn’t get anything done by sleeping. But she’d feel useless either way.

She would have stayed in bed that day too, (screw the eighties and Savage. Sleep was much more likeable) if it hadn’t been for the shouting from down the hall. It sounded like Rip and Sara were arguing about something.

“—what I saw back at the asylum was an animal!” Rip was saying. Deserey cringed, shoving her head into her pillow, trying to block it out. Her head was already killing her, and the yelling didn’t do much to ease the aching.

“You are the last person on this ship to judge anyone!” Sara shouted back. It sounded like she was getting worked up, and Deserey felt bad that her first instinct was to inwardly call her whiny and burrow deeper into her pillow.

“This isn’t judgment, Sara,” Rip insisted, making Deserey growl in annoyance. Why couldn’t they just shut up? At the very least they could argue somewhere else. “It is concern!”

There was a pause, and Dez sighed in relief, thinking it was over. She rolled over, snuggling in her blanket, hoping to fall back asleep. Maybe her head would feel better if she got a few extra hours… And she was almost asleep when they started up again.

“I thought you knew how I was resurrected…” Sara muttered quietly. (But not quietly enough that Deserey couldn’t still hear it, unfortunately.) Dez sat up, groaning loudly, throwing her blanket across the room as she did so.

“I knew it involved something called the Lazerus Pit…” Rip told Sara, as Deserey stood up, grumbling under her breath. Moodily, she got dressed, her head pounding more violently as her irritation grew larger and larger. Clearly, this was going to be one of those days where everything irritated her, no matter how mild the situation was. Great. Just fucking great. 

“Yeah, well apparently there’s a down side to being brought back from the dead,” Sara complained, and Deserey rolled her eyes. She couldn’t help thinking that was obvious. Who the hell would want to come back to this shit hole once they were freed by the sweet release of death? But that wasn’t exactly what the assassin had meant. She wasn’t talking about depression or a few years of bad luck; she was talking about something far worse, as was made evident by her next sentence. “My friend Thea calls it a blood lust, but I think that’s putting it too lightly… And so is calling me an animal. I’m a monster.”

Deserey froze, as she reached for the button on the wall that would slide her door open. Blood lust? As in murder? Dez wasn’t sure why it was so shocking. She knew that Sara was an assassin, but she had never actually heard her talk about it before. Never mind phrase it in such a harsh and heinous way like blood lust. Deserey felt a pang of sympathy for her. (Though a great deal of the initial annoyance was still laying there beneath the surface.)

She took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of her nerves and take control of her emotions before she went anywhere. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if she walked out and started bighting everyone’s heads off, especially if Sara was already having a bad day herself. She would just have to shove her own problems down like she always did. (It wasn’t like they were that important anyway. Just her being a massive bitch to everyone in her head.)

Deserey sighed, running her hand along the wall and letting it slide open. As soon as Dez stepped out into the hallway, she and Sara collided, both women crumbling to the floor. Deserey groaned, her irritation rising to a nearly uncontrollable rate. She gritted her teeth, trying her best not to let something rude slip from her lips. Sara was one person she really did not want to piss off.