hey, happy blog anniversary!! <3
for the request, how about daisira + anniversary that either of them got sectioned + yellow?
Thank you! I always enjoy writing a bit of daisira! <3
*
She finds Daisy in Artifact Storage, looking at the coffin. No, Basira decides, not looking at. Watching the coffin, with the wary hostility of a creature that isn’t sure whether it’s predator or prey. The pale yellow wood is soundless, motionless. Inert, wrapped in its chains. It’s supposed to be behind two locked doors as well, but Daisy’s never been prevented by things like that.
“All right?” Basira asks. She wants to make a joke, something about if you needed a nap that badly or how it’s probably more comfortable than their camp bed, something to lighten the mood. She can’t much find it in her these days, though, and when it comes to the coffin she has no idea what to say.
Daisy never talks to her about what it was like. Pretty awful, she said once, and after that avoided the subject like the plague. Basira suspects she talks to Jon about it, because he was in there with her, because he gets it in a way Basira never could, and she knows the twisted knot of jealousy in her stomach is ridiculous, but that doesn’t do anything to dispel the sour bile of it.
“Sixteen years,” Daisy says, quietly, her voice something between a whisper and a growl. Her hands are hanging at her sides, nails clenched into her palms, and when Basira touches her shoulder she can feel the tension wound up tight.
“What’s that?”
“It’s the 24th. That’s the day Zack—” She stops, huffing a breath through her nose. Basira lets her fingers curl around Daisy’s shoulder, the nape of her neck.
“There’s nothing you could have done,” she says. Daisy shakes her head.
“I know that,” she snorts, as if Basira’s being patently ridiculous. “Only…” She goes quiet, glaring down at the coffin’s placid yellow form. Basira waits, and after a while it comes: “I almost never think about him, except on this date. I should. Someone should think about everyone trapped in that place, but they don’t. Life just goes on.”
“Until it doesn’t,” says Basira, and it’s not much of a joke but Daisy laughs anyway, sharp and fast. Some of the tension drains from her shoulders and she leans into Basira’s hand on her shoulder, just a bit.
“Come on,” she says, turning away from the coffin. “I’ll buy the first round and we can drink to Zack and all the rest of them. Best we can do.”
It’s not much, but the best they can do never seems to be these days.