[ There's nothing here I want to kill. Nothing anywhere, and no flinching away from eye contact. She's appreciative that he holds it, for once also not the one who feels she needs to look away. She's not hiding anything, no motivations that haven't been spoken on, no secrets that aren't polite more than necessary. She doesn't need to tell him the story behind each of those serrated teeth. The screams, the pain, the terror, where she'd been dumped next. No need to talk about having her wrist rotted through. About breaking the mirror with the help of the person who'd been responsible for the rotting, and desperately cutting through. How her healing, her seastar body hadn't been able to do what it usually did in those tacky underground motel rooms.
How she'd cut off her hand and they'd shoved it in the microwave to keep it from rotting in the trash. How she'd sat in the bathroom, in the bathtub, the flow of blood staunching, and the flickerings of powers coming through to heal her, slowly.
Those aren't secrets. They're memories, but like memories of his, ones that are quite and fine in their gilded cages behind watchful eyes.
She wonders at that. Wonders, too, if she likes Will's eyes.
Turns away to head to the ice box, deciding she does. Gunther is a steady warm reassurance at her side, one she encourages to brush against her fingers, tongue and fur and wet nose all interchangeable. Dog. She doesn't look back, merely makes a noise that might have been disapproval, or might have just been her clearing her throat as she eyes the contents of Will's carefully over-stocked appliance.
He's kind to his collection of wandering souls, evidence by the display of what's inside. Vegan doesn't take long to find, but she eyes the rest, too, cataloging and storing detail away that may never matter. He collects the odd ends. Annie pulls out the box of vegan ice cream and wonders if she can eat it all before she gets home. The travel time to the Cape, to the porter, to the other porter, to the train, then to her house isn't insignificant in this lingering heat. ]
You know what I thought was one of the biggest luxuries back home?
[ Unlikely. It's phrased in that annoying way that begs for asking what it is she's talking about. If he wants to know, is what she means. Do you want to hear. ]
rping with me must be a personal nightmare for you i am sorry
How she'd cut off her hand and they'd shoved it in the microwave to keep it from rotting in the trash. How she'd sat in the bathroom, in the bathtub, the flow of blood staunching, and the flickerings of powers coming through to heal her, slowly.
Those aren't secrets. They're memories, but like memories of his, ones that are quite and fine in their gilded cages behind watchful eyes.
She wonders at that. Wonders, too, if she likes Will's eyes.
Turns away to head to the ice box, deciding she does. Gunther is a steady warm reassurance at her side, one she encourages to brush against her fingers, tongue and fur and wet nose all interchangeable. Dog. She doesn't look back, merely makes a noise that might have been disapproval, or might have just been her clearing her throat as she eyes the contents of Will's carefully over-stocked appliance.
He's kind to his collection of wandering souls, evidence by the display of what's inside. Vegan doesn't take long to find, but she eyes the rest, too, cataloging and storing detail away that may never matter. He collects the odd ends. Annie pulls out the box of vegan ice cream and wonders if she can eat it all before she gets home. The travel time to the Cape, to the porter, to the other porter, to the train, then to her house isn't insignificant in this lingering heat. ]
You know what I thought was one of the biggest luxuries back home?
[ Unlikely. It's phrased in that annoying way that begs for asking what it is she's talking about. If he wants to know, is what she means. Do you want to hear. ]