[He moves away so quickly, she stumbles, nearly falls. But he keeps walking, and she'd rather not be lost in a void, even if the alternative is a stranger who barely seems to tolerate her. She rubs at her arms as she catches up, unable to keep the hurt from the shine of her eyes or the turn of her mouth.]
I'll take your word for it. [Subdued but present in her tone is the implication that she has little choice otherwise. There's literally nothing to compare his statements against, although features do appear to gather around them. There are smudges on what passes for a horizon, indeterminable distances away.] Why come here at all? What's the benefit to you, or me?
[In an abrupt trick of perspective, she finds herself nose-to-tip with a thorn as big as a grown adult. She takes a step back, away from both it and the man who apparently calls this place home. Who...created it?]
Is it meant to be your mirror, or your inverse? [Maybe she's a little more cautious now, wary of a cold shoulder or the great big fuck off wall of thorns menacing anyone who comes too close.]
no subject
I'll take your word for it. [Subdued but present in her tone is the implication that she has little choice otherwise. There's literally nothing to compare his statements against, although features do appear to gather around them. There are smudges on what passes for a horizon, indeterminable distances away.] Why come here at all? What's the benefit to you, or me?
[In an abrupt trick of perspective, she finds herself nose-to-tip with a thorn as big as a grown adult. She takes a step back, away from both it and the man who apparently calls this place home. Who...created it?]
Is it meant to be your mirror, or your inverse? [Maybe she's a little more cautious now, wary of a cold shoulder or the great big fuck off wall of thorns menacing anyone who comes too close.]