[closed] she wears short shorts i wear t shirts

[brittlest]

WHO: alina & ralston
WHAT: Meeting in Horizon
WHEN: Early September
WHERE: Horizon

[Is it felt? When someone trespasses and begins to make changes here within another person's domain. Or was that a fundamental and instinctive thing—keen only when they had no memories to clutter the influence of the Singularity over them?

Regardless: there amidst the sand and burning crystalline structures of Alina Starkov's domain is now erected a trimmed field tent. Its sides rolled tight to the top to allow whatever arcane breeze floats here to pass unobstructed through it. A thick carpet has been conjured to cover the sand. Does is resemble some military tent? Or does it fall more along the lines of some delicate shade constructed for an elaborate garden party? Can it be both? If there is any place which might allow for such a discrepancy, surely it's this one.

In the shade of the tent waits a small table and two more or less matching chairs. One of them is occupied.]

Comments

[brittlest]

[The mesmeric shape of the light in the confines of the tent canvas plays like a shaded lantern from between her fingers. It isn't a matter of seeing it, but feeling it—the sensation of vibrant sunlight shifting on the other side of a pane of glass to which he has his cheek pressed, the presence full enough that he is aware of the warmth. Here in Horizon, it's so near that he might almost reach out and touch the shape of it himself. Consequently, the urge to do so is quiet and remote. In this place, where he may glut himself on the arcane, starving impulses are at their least powerful.

Still, he isn't without appetite. Even a sated animal finds the scent of a meal appealing. So there is something intent in his study of her, eagerly parsing where she begins and Horizon ends. It's a complicated subject—the two things being as close knit as consequences are to actions.

Luckily, he is practiced with this study.]

What did you hope to achieve by repairing it?

[solmate]

[ Alina nearly recoils, her face bemused. Her face is not subtle. What an odd (stupid) question she thinks. ]

What do you mean? [ But her question is sharp, and she is not really interested in an answer. Her country was broken, people trapped and desperate dying in fruitless attempts to cross it. Her hands clutch tightly around the arms of the chair, the temperature of the tent rising as the beams of light that filter in pulse like a breath. ] People are trapped by it. My whole unit died crossing it for a stupid supply run. The fold— [ at my parents, her mouth fumbles around the thought, stumbling to stop it. They were probably crossing it because of her. Just how large was the Sun Summoner's body count?

She could cut him. Hurt him to make him leave. It's not like it's even real.

But that would make her like Kirigan, wouldn't it? The light that had moved forward like a gust of air retreats as she leans back into her seat, her mouth moving carefully around each of the words. ]

Grisha, like Kirigan— like me —are not exactly trusted where we come from. Useful. But not trusted.

[ Grisha women scare me, Mal had joked, and still it echos around her head. But Ravka's begrudging acceptance is still better than being hunted and slaughtered. Easier to deal with than the constant uncertainty straddling Ravkan and Shu but belonging to neither. ]

And I just have to.

[ A Saint that will vanquish the fold. It's a children's story, but stories repeated often enough become real. She just didn't think it would ever be so literal. ]