[ she knows. she knows full well this isn't a friend, none of the people she lives with would leave the place like this and not tell her why, what happened, at least let her know she might walk into something amiss. but it's—
it's a good five minutes before anything else comes through ]
[and a part of him thinks, well of course, and the rest of him thinks, shut up, at himself. it's worlds nicer than what she had before, and he's not going to make her feel bad about her decisions]
[ feet planted firmly in indignant fury, back turned to the border of remembering to be scared, stubbornly picking thing after thing up from the mess of scattered bits of the place she'd told herself was safe. ]
[he doesn't believe the first part. not for a minute. he knows, just as he knows she knows, what it's like to be made to feel unsafe in a place you wanted so bad to be untouchable. he knows what it's like to have your home invaded, wrecked. he didn't have a home apart from the hotel, since]
[ it's times like these that she feels the absence of her voice the most. times when someone who could speak could snap out an answer and it would be an accident. any bitterness from her fingers first requires thought and then action, and there's no room for accident in that equation. if she writes out something sharp, she's had to do it on purpose.
the alternative is most often vulnerability or silence, and she doesn't want any part in at least one of those things right now.
so there are things she wants to say that might have been snapped by a girl with a throat full of something, but instead an empty pause is followed by, ]
[ please don't say that. he's right, but she doesn't want to ever have to think that he might be. if she gets scared now, who knows how long that'll take to go away. ]
I can't hear anyone.
[ friend or foe. ]
Something's going off but that's what I walked in to. I think it's fine
[he'd feel better if she left the house. he doesn't know how to say that to her without making her feel scared of something that probably won't happen (but could, gods, it could)]
did you text anybody else? so they don't get scared.
[he wants her to keep talking to him, but he also -- doesn't know what to say. he ends up going with his gut, gives her an option she doesn't usually have when they're face to face]
[he's not sure what he's expecting when comes back to 004, but it isn't what he finds when he opens the door. it's like some wild animal got in; it's like some centralized hurricane that brewed in their quaint living room. "bad enough," was kind of an understatement]
[a sick feeling crawls up his throat, as his shoe crunches against glass, just as Nill warned him; violation]
[ the oddly soft trill of the alarm is still going strong, but underneath that there's also the sound of a shuffling scrape - from the kitchen, by the sounds of it. having heard him, she pushes the rest of the shattered scraps of plate from her most recent pile into the dustpan, stands with it to walk until she's in view.
it's an entirely unenthusiastic wave. not because she isn't pleased to see him, but. well. enthusiasm would be a bit out of place here, surrounded by the debris of her illusions of sanctuary, wouldn't it? ]
[Magnus certainly doesn't expect a handstand, and unlike the other times he's come home, he doesn't sign to her. his arms feel weighty and dead at his sides, hands curling into fists to keep his undead blood flowing]
[he asks it carefully, walking over to the hall closet for a broom, because the destruction of the room is enough dramatics for the moment;]
[ a bland shake of her head is his answer, and she doesn't wait to see if he's seen it. turns slowly to drift back off into the kitchen, the sound of the bin lid popping up and plate shards falling in the next breaker of the silence.
a couple of scratches from picking up things she shouldn't, maybe, but she's fine. will be fine.
as it is, it's taking a very active effort on her part to keep the broil of her emotions from projecting, courtesy of the porter, out into something tangible. not that there's a lot of point. the resulting absence of her usual willingness to put on a smile for anyone, any time, is evidence enough. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ooh thats a sweet icon that late manga shit
i haven't been home and i don't know what would qualify as "something." what's happening?
better believe it
it's a good five minutes before anything else comes through ]
People have been here
Re: better believe it
[and a part of him thinks, well of course, and the rest of him thinks, shut up, at himself. it's worlds nicer than what she had before, and he's not going to make her feel bad about her decisions]
where are you
no subject
I'm at home
[ feet planted firmly in indignant fury, back turned to the border of remembering to be scared, stubbornly picking thing after thing up from the mess of scattered bits of the place she'd told herself was safe. ]
no subject
[he doesn't believe the first part. not for a minute. he knows, just as he knows she knows, what it's like to be made to feel unsafe in a place you wanted so bad to be untouchable. he knows what it's like to have your home invaded, wrecked. he didn't have a home apart from the hotel, since]
how bad is it?
no subject
the alternative is most often vulnerability or silence, and she doesn't want any part in at least one of those things right now.
so there are things she wants to say that might have been snapped by a girl with a throat full of something, but instead an empty pause is followed by, ]
It's bad enough
no subject
[Magnus is worried. Nill can project her thoughts, but she can't protect herself. she can't even fly away]
no subject
I can't hear anyone.
[ friend or foe. ]
Something's going off but that's what I walked in to.
I think it's fine
no subject
[he'd feel better if she left the house. he doesn't know how to say that to her without making her feel scared of something that probably won't happen (but could, gods, it could)]
did you text anybody else? so they don't get scared.
[them, right]
no subject
Not yet. That's a good point, I'll do that soon
no subject
do you want to talk about it?
no subject
I thought I sent this 3 hours ago
[ok. he doesn't want to make her keep talking, then]
back to the house in 10-15. see you soon.
you went too hard
Be careful when you step in there is glass
text > action
[he's not sure what he's expecting when comes back to 004, but it isn't what he finds when he opens the door. it's like some wild animal got in; it's like some centralized hurricane that brewed in their quaint living room. "bad enough," was kind of an understatement]
[a sick feeling crawls up his throat, as his shoe crunches against glass, just as Nill warned him; violation]
Nill? I'm back.
Re: text > action
it's an entirely unenthusiastic wave. not because she isn't pleased to see him, but. well. enthusiasm would be a bit out of place here, surrounded by the debris of her illusions of sanctuary, wouldn't it? ]
Re: text > action
[he asks it carefully, walking over to the hall closet for a broom, because the destruction of the room is enough dramatics for the moment;]
You're not hurt or anything, right?
Re: text > action
a couple of scratches from picking up things she shouldn't, maybe, but she's fine. will be fine.
as it is, it's taking a very active effort on her part to keep the broil of her emotions from projecting, courtesy of the porter, out into something tangible. not that there's a lot of point. the resulting absence of her usual willingness to put on a smile for anyone, any time, is evidence enough. ]