[ Kimiko nods, eyes flicking to her rude clone. Yes, it shares her strength. It's a bit like she's been split in two, half her strength funneled out to build this... this thing. That, and the uncomfortable missing stair in her thoughts. At some point, the thing had gotten tired of her penchant for resurrecting and gone from being a physical threat to being an emotional — and social — menace. Probably after the bullet to Kimiko's head had done nothing other than waste a bullet.
As for her invulnerability? Not a clue. Kimiko tents her hands and then slides her fingers together, before her hands part again in a gesture of uncertainty. She's trying to indicate she has no idea if the hitchhiker heals.
And, of course, it isn't done talking. ]
I'm not a thing.
[ Listening, Kimiko's fingers curl toward her palm. Hasn't she said something similar, once upon a time? ]
I'm the most important member of my team. I keep them all alive while they fight and kill freaks with powers. Like the bitch who killed our brother.
[ Still listening, Kimiko's fists complete that circle: bunching so tight, the skin quivering; an emotional blow as severe as if someone had actually struck her. The moment Kenji is brought up, her entire face changes. It's somewhere between scathing anger and the resurgence of terrible, terrible grief. Rubbing dirt into a wound that isn't healed. The pain is caught in her eyebrows, in the almost desperate inhale she gulps down.
For a second, she considers just ripping the thing's head off and being done with it— But the inclination vanishes without her being able to take a single step closer.
She ends up rounding on Logan, when she can't round on her stupid clone. The bag with the lighter and cans of hairspray is ripped from his hands and then thrust back toward him. The note she wrote — burn it — is held up, shoved inches away from his nose, and shaken and shaken again. If she could repeat herself, reprimand him, scream, use her words, she would. She can't, and that frustration wears itself plainly and agonising across her face. ]
no subject
As for her invulnerability? Not a clue. Kimiko tents her hands and then slides her fingers together, before her hands part again in a gesture of uncertainty. She's trying to indicate she has no idea if the hitchhiker heals.
And, of course, it isn't done talking. ]
I'm not a thing.
[ Listening, Kimiko's fingers curl toward her palm. Hasn't she said something similar, once upon a time? ]
I'm the most important member of my team. I keep them all alive while they fight and kill freaks with powers. Like the bitch who killed our brother.
[ Still listening, Kimiko's fists complete that circle: bunching so tight, the skin quivering; an emotional blow as severe as if someone had actually struck her. The moment Kenji is brought up, her entire face changes. It's somewhere between scathing anger and the resurgence of terrible, terrible grief. Rubbing dirt into a wound that isn't healed. The pain is caught in her eyebrows, in the almost desperate inhale she gulps down.
For a second, she considers just ripping the thing's head off and being done with it— But the inclination vanishes without her being able to take a single step closer.
She ends up rounding on Logan, when she can't round on her stupid clone. The bag with the lighter and cans of hairspray is ripped from his hands and then thrust back toward him. The note she wrote — burn it — is held up, shoved inches away from his nose, and shaken and shaken again. If she could repeat herself, reprimand him, scream, use her words, she would. She can't, and that frustration wears itself plainly and agonising across her face. ]