09-17-2013, 09:23 AM
[Ugh. You guys, I am SO sorry I keep letting this thread drop off my radar! Someone should haved pinged me! LOL]
How are you, Fern?
Fern shoots Keisha a glance, her crossed arms squeezed tight. She does not quite know what to make of that question. She also cannot keep her eyes off of the Fostern for very long, edging back as Phoebe moves to set the hairpin down. Phoebe lingers a moment, but seems to grasp that Fern isn't going anywhere near them anytime soon and gets up, walking back to the other Oracles.
The girl's eyes lock onto them, watching them, not answering them, while she steps forward. Even when she crouches to pick up the hairpin she's staring at them, unblinking. There's a reptilian -- well one shouldn't call it grace, there's nothing soft or ethereal about the way she moves -- control of her body in the way she descends and arises again. Her fingers close like coils.
Those fingers that, clawed or otherwise, ripped out River of Clouds's heart. Tore apart human bodies. Strung entrails together like strings in a web. It's amazing she's not still washing the blood out from under her fingernails, rinsing it from the back of her throat.
Fern takes several steps back again, her grip tight on the hairpin. She glances down once she's A Safe Distance, whatever she thinks that is, looking at it in her palm. The clasp on the back that might hold it in her hair is examined, frowned at, and then
broken off with a snap. She doesn't toss it aside; she pockets that piece, still cradling the delicate white flower in her palm. If she is in wonder at its craftsmanship -- and she should be -- it doesn't show on her face. If she is touched by the gift, it doesn't occur to her to express this somehow, even by a thank you. That's not a decision on Fern's part; Fern is so far from her own humanity at this point that she doesn't quite remember it's there.
"I used to like green," she says, her voice quieter, less rough, dreamlike,
her pupils blowing out as that dream turns nightmarish. She shudders, arms tightening up again, hand closing around the flower til its petals dig into her skin, looking up at the Oracles again. "What do you want?"
How are you, Fern?
Fern shoots Keisha a glance, her crossed arms squeezed tight. She does not quite know what to make of that question. She also cannot keep her eyes off of the Fostern for very long, edging back as Phoebe moves to set the hairpin down. Phoebe lingers a moment, but seems to grasp that Fern isn't going anywhere near them anytime soon and gets up, walking back to the other Oracles.
The girl's eyes lock onto them, watching them, not answering them, while she steps forward. Even when she crouches to pick up the hairpin she's staring at them, unblinking. There's a reptilian -- well one shouldn't call it grace, there's nothing soft or ethereal about the way she moves -- control of her body in the way she descends and arises again. Her fingers close like coils.
Those fingers that, clawed or otherwise, ripped out River of Clouds's heart. Tore apart human bodies. Strung entrails together like strings in a web. It's amazing she's not still washing the blood out from under her fingernails, rinsing it from the back of her throat.
Fern takes several steps back again, her grip tight on the hairpin. She glances down once she's A Safe Distance, whatever she thinks that is, looking at it in her palm. The clasp on the back that might hold it in her hair is examined, frowned at, and then
broken off with a snap. She doesn't toss it aside; she pockets that piece, still cradling the delicate white flower in her palm. If she is in wonder at its craftsmanship -- and she should be -- it doesn't show on her face. If she is touched by the gift, it doesn't occur to her to express this somehow, even by a thank you. That's not a decision on Fern's part; Fern is so far from her own humanity at this point that she doesn't quite remember it's there.
"I used to like green," she says, her voice quieter, less rough, dreamlike,
her pupils blowing out as that dream turns nightmarish. She shudders, arms tightening up again, hand closing around the flower til its petals dig into her skin, looking up at the Oracles again. "What do you want?"
my whole life is thunder.