i’ve been waiting on the fault line | OTA

[limier]

WHO: Wren Coupe, Melys, Casimir Lyov, Finch Wicker + YOU
WHAT: Catchall for the month
WHEN: Mid- whatever this month is i give up
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Will edit as appropriate

 

Editing these in as I go, if you’d like a specific starter please hmu on plurk or discord (oeste#8807). ♥

Comments

[limier]

"So you pull your arms in." It’s vague, hoarse. "You pull your arms in and you go with,"

A little dignity. It'd be a mistake to search for much meaning of it, at this point. She glances at last to the cup, the chair. Recollects:

"I am fine." Sure, Jan. At length, she eases to sit. A moment only — leg already jumping — any longer and she’s going to go out of her own skin. "You call it politics so you do not have to listen."

The irony doesn’t appear to sink in.

"That is all it is. It is listening when it is hard." Her teeth chatter. "That is all it ever was."

[justice_is_blond]

It's so much more complicated than that, he's certain. As certain he is of how complicated it will be to figure out if she's suffering the same flu-like mess that a few people have come to the infirmary for so far.

"It's finding a way to get listened to as well, at the very least." Like now. "Like when a healer is saying outright that someone isn't well and being ignored. You've a cough, you're clearly dealing with chills, you're, you're drawing on the maps, Coupe, and those aren't cheap. You've never struck me as wasteful when it comes to goods."

There's a beat, and then he's pushing the cup into her personal space. None of the ones who wandered in would stay put long enough to really get help and he can't see him convincing Coupe of anything. Water may be the only thing he can get her to pay attention to.

"There's saying things in ways that get it listened to, which I'm clearly not good at as you're on your feet again."

[limier]

"I've chills every day of my life." She grouses, eyes the maps and her handiwork. In five years time, they'll paint a very different view. Five years, no — four, now, "You ought to know."

How, she doesn't specify. Wren shakes her head.

"If you listen," At last, a grip for the cup. She drinks — forgets — sets it aside once more. "You learn what others want said. What you would want said. If you listen, you begin to hear yourself, echoed. It all echoes."

Down in the veins.