10-02-2019, 02:08 PM
He spoke. A lot.
It reminded her of the currents that brought her here, a whirlwind, a storm, something that spun her head around. But it was just words. Just so, so many words, an unprecedented amount, from her experience. Nobody ever gave her enough attention to speak that much after they knew of her quirk. And here the fire-crowned one was, giving her enough ammunition to theoretically let her write her own paragraph. If only she could mix and match, if only she had learned how.
Why was he being so polite, she wondered? And what was he? Was he dangerous? Venomous? Or were his colors purely aesthetic? So many questions to ask with words that hadn't been breathed yet.
You talk back to people with their voices? Fervently, she shook her head yes, so excited he caught on easily that when she stopped nodding, the world was spinning.
Did you get lost? She nodded her head, once, less violently, and less assuredly, like she was thinking about it.
Is that where you're from? The sea? One more nod.
And he asked the hardest question of all to answer. What's your name?
She thought for a bit. Her name was Echo, but he didn't say it. How could she? How did one describe a phenomenon such as that without the word being said, or without a demonstration? She scrunched her face and tried to remember the words he said, sifting through them, trying to find what could be useful.
"Your name... a chaser actually... talk back to people with their voices?" His voice was released from her once more, after a bout of concentration between each phrase. Tides, it was hard to speak back fragments, to remember the souls of the words. Echo needed practice, and desperately, especially if she wanted help, or even to tell people her name.
Perhaps she could learn how to write, if she stayed with these people for long enough?
And it was people - there was another, now, tall and lanky, wearing black glass - obsidian, maybe, like what came from the fiery mountains; how appropriate that he would follow his corona of a friend - and with equally dark limbs folded to his side. They looked like flippers, or maybe wings. She hadn't seen too many birds, but they seemed similar enough, and those seemed like feathers.
"What's your name?" She asked, once more in Wormwood's voice. A name to remember, for sure, and though she didn't understand what it meant, she understood that the essence of the name didn't quite fit him. She hoped that this bird-cat-blubber-thing would have a name more suited to him.
It reminded her of the currents that brought her here, a whirlwind, a storm, something that spun her head around. But it was just words. Just so, so many words, an unprecedented amount, from her experience. Nobody ever gave her enough attention to speak that much after they knew of her quirk. And here the fire-crowned one was, giving her enough ammunition to theoretically let her write her own paragraph. If only she could mix and match, if only she had learned how.
Why was he being so polite, she wondered? And what was he? Was he dangerous? Venomous? Or were his colors purely aesthetic? So many questions to ask with words that hadn't been breathed yet.
You talk back to people with their voices? Fervently, she shook her head yes, so excited he caught on easily that when she stopped nodding, the world was spinning.
Did you get lost? She nodded her head, once, less violently, and less assuredly, like she was thinking about it.
Is that where you're from? The sea? One more nod.
And he asked the hardest question of all to answer. What's your name?
She thought for a bit. Her name was Echo, but he didn't say it. How could she? How did one describe a phenomenon such as that without the word being said, or without a demonstration? She scrunched her face and tried to remember the words he said, sifting through them, trying to find what could be useful.
"Your name... a chaser actually... talk back to people with their voices?" His voice was released from her once more, after a bout of concentration between each phrase. Tides, it was hard to speak back fragments, to remember the souls of the words. Echo needed practice, and desperately, especially if she wanted help, or even to tell people her name.
Perhaps she could learn how to write, if she stayed with these people for long enough?
And it was people - there was another, now, tall and lanky, wearing black glass - obsidian, maybe, like what came from the fiery mountains; how appropriate that he would follow his corona of a friend - and with equally dark limbs folded to his side. They looked like flippers, or maybe wings. She hadn't seen too many birds, but they seemed similar enough, and those seemed like feathers.
"What's your name?" She asked, once more in Wormwood's voice. A name to remember, for sure, and though she didn't understand what it meant, she understood that the essence of the name didn't quite fit him. She hoped that this bird-cat-blubber-thing would have a name more suited to him.
tags - "speech"
dms are always open if you need to talk to someone or just want a friend :^)