"Clickers and Runners and Stalkers and Bloaters," Ellie mutters with a sigh, but doesn't elaborate; they're easy enough to infer. All gross variations of the same theme, but he knows enough about that ugly mess. She lets her eyelids droop a bit as she draws up her legs, going crosslegged, gripping an ankle. The wall is cool against her overwarm back, keeps her head from spinning.
... what did she miss?
The people, mostly. But he knows that. She's silent for a few breaths, and then her brow furrows.
"I miss... music."
It sounds almost like a tender confession, somehow more serious than the flippant way she talks about death.
"Here, I've got to go out to the docks to hear anything. I miss being able to sit in my room alone and listen to a recording of a band, and try to figure out the notes."
As she speaks, she holds out her maimed left hand, miming holding an instrument -- and then a frown streaks across her face, before she banishes it.
"I used to play guitar. It's- like a lute, here. But it's got a richer sound. But, y'know." She holds her hand up, indicating the stumps of her fingers.
no subject
... what did she miss?
The people, mostly. But he knows that. She's silent for a few breaths, and then her brow furrows.
"I miss... music."
It sounds almost like a tender confession, somehow more serious than the flippant way she talks about death.
"Here, I've got to go out to the docks to hear anything. I miss being able to sit in my room alone and listen to a recording of a band, and try to figure out the notes."
As she speaks, she holds out her maimed left hand, miming holding an instrument -- and then a frown streaks across her face, before she banishes it.
"I used to play guitar. It's- like a lute, here. But it's got a richer sound. But, y'know." She holds her hand up, indicating the stumps of her fingers.
"Not anymore."