Sunshine opens her eyes, then shuts them again in an exaggerated blink. Oh, gods. Oh, gods, is she blind? She bats at the empty air in front of her, as if to shove away a heavy curtain, but there's no curtain, and she's on the verge of some kind of meltdown - it's been the better part of a year since she opened her eyes and saw nothing, even in piss-poor lighting, because vampire vision frigging loves piss-poor lighting - when she realizes she can see something.
She can see her hand. Barely. The light web is there, glimmering a faint gold.
She lifts both of her hands in front of her face, relief seeping through her panic. She can still see. There's not a whole hell of a lot to see, apparently, but her eyes still work.
"Maybe I can turn it up," she muses to herself.
"Spartan," says a familiar voice from her shoulder. "Just light yourself up like a goddamn fishing lure."
Sunshine grimaces, but doesn't bother trying to look at Modomnoc. "You have a better idea?"
Dom buzzes his wings irritably. "I just thought it was worth pointing out that if we can't see what's out there, we might not want to make it easy to see us."
"Well," Sunshine grumbles, patting her pockets, "I can't exactly turn it off, so unless I can see well enough to find someplace safe, I'm a sitting duck either way, right?" She huffs out a tiny sigh of relief as her fingers find the familiar outline of her little knife, and she pulls it out of her pocket. Its warm glow doesn't reach as far as she'd expect it to, but it's something. She can make out the edges of nearby objects, now. Squinting (gods, she can almost feel her eyes trying to draw more from the darkness than the darkness feels like revealing), she edges forward until she can clearly pick out a... shelf full of books. They're clad in ostensibly protective plastic, and there are decimal numbers on the spines.
A library. She's - they're in a library. And it might be pitch black, darker than it could be in any above-ground city, but she feels a little safer. "Okay," she says, putting her free hand on the shelf to steady herself. "Could be worse."
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She can see her hand. Barely. The light web is there, glimmering a faint gold.
She lifts both of her hands in front of her face, relief seeping through her panic. She can still see. There's not a whole hell of a lot to see, apparently, but her eyes still work.
"Maybe I can turn it up," she muses to herself.
"Spartan," says a familiar voice from her shoulder. "Just light yourself up like a goddamn fishing lure."
Sunshine grimaces, but doesn't bother trying to look at Modomnoc. "You have a better idea?"
Dom buzzes his wings irritably. "I just thought it was worth pointing out that if we can't see what's out there, we might not want to make it easy to see us."
"Well," Sunshine grumbles, patting her pockets, "I can't exactly turn it off, so unless I can see well enough to find someplace safe, I'm a sitting duck either way, right?" She huffs out a tiny sigh of relief as her fingers find the familiar outline of her little knife, and she pulls it out of her pocket. Its warm glow doesn't reach as far as she'd expect it to, but it's something. She can make out the edges of nearby objects, now. Squinting (gods, she can almost feel her eyes trying to draw more from the darkness than the darkness feels like revealing), she edges forward until she can clearly pick out a... shelf full of books. They're clad in ostensibly protective plastic, and there are decimal numbers on the spines.
A library. She's - they're in a library. And it might be pitch black, darker than it could be in any above-ground city, but she feels a little safer. "Okay," she says, putting her free hand on the shelf to steady herself. "Could be worse."