[Changeling] A Gathering of Mists IC

[PhoeKun]

...Well, that works.

Rose springs at the bat torch without wasting a moment, grabbing an end of chain with each hand as she goes. Tossing the links over the burning head, she pulls the line taught around the would-be guardian's arms.

"Game over."

[Anarion]

It is good luck to bless a new thread with frequent posting, and some say it wards away the Gentry.

[SiuiS]

Playing at being human? There may be some truth to that.

Charlotte blushes a little, for a few reasons, the newfound redness hot beneath her cheeks. "Excuse. He said he would have some of that scratching now, and you said you would see to his ears after. I haven't been asleep this whole while."

So much to take in. So much to be said. How to do so? Where to begin? Charlotte feels like she's flipping through pages looking for the start of a chapter or scene, madly scanning with amber eyes to find the lines that bind within the written word the way she feels, the way the story is supposed to go, and while she looks and longs the lights grow brighter and soon, very soon she will have to start to ad-lib and—

No.

One deep breath. The scent of fire lingers, smoke in her clothes and skin and hair blessedly covering the charred meat stink. The breath rolls around and escapes like a ghost with the lowest of moans.

There are words to say. There are orders and progressions. Patterns to make the crossword fit. Feelings. Thoughts. Charlotte is caught for a moment, pained by the chasm. Marchande just does not and will not understand. The costs, the benefits, the risks. Marchande does not like Charlotte's perspective, simply. No words or speech would change that. No amount of antagonism would change her antagonistic tone.

Charlotte moves deliberately, slowly. Rock forward, toes under. Rock back, heels down. Smooth skirts, rise (ignore the tears and rips, and tears they bring) and step. Unsteady. Eyes half closed, arms half raised, weight half shifted. Charlotte closes her arms, locks her hands, around Marchande in literal, figurative warmth, and breathes into her shoulder. Priorities.

"Thank you..."