"Look, it's not actually the noise, it's the... noise," Shepard tries to explain, hoping— knowing, he gets it. When something presses up against your purpose, the domain of your influence, and it isn't right, it's like...
...It's like when your shoes aren't tied right, and you can feel the misalignment in every step. It's like catching the whiff of an odd smell, and not being able to tell where it's from. It's like a soft, annoying noise, just slightly below notice, and you can bear it, probably all day if needed, but it's still a weight on your consciousness.
It's the smallest splinters that cause the most urgent annoyance, and nobody prays like an upset child, shouting into the void for a form of justice that isn't rational to want, or reasonable to ask for.
"It's fine," she lies, convincingly, and turns away, "But you can walk with me, if you want. Unless you've got a job of your own to follow through on."
no subject
...It's like when your shoes aren't tied right, and you can feel the misalignment in every step. It's like catching the whiff of an odd smell, and not being able to tell where it's from. It's like a soft, annoying noise, just slightly below notice, and you can bear it, probably all day if needed, but it's still a weight on your consciousness.
It's the smallest splinters that cause the most urgent annoyance, and nobody prays like an upset child, shouting into the void for a form of justice that isn't rational to want, or reasonable to ask for.
"It's fine," she lies, convincingly, and turns away, "But you can walk with me, if you want. Unless you've got a job of your own to follow through on."