10-06-2019, 02:01 AM
"Hey there," Echo said, in a voice that wasn't hers, staring at him curiously. He was, seemingly, having a very bad day, so she was watching his face for that anger, that anguish that pushed him to scream. Perhaps anguish was too harsh a word - but she did study his face, watched the creases, the one good eye dart around occasionally, and watched his frustration, his indignance, and perhaps a little bit of his shame. So fascinating. Frankly, she liked watching people's faces. There was so much she had to figure out on her own, because she couldn't quite ask, so she spent a lot of time paying more attention with her eyes than most might. Even if she didn't learn anything, it kept her mind sharp. Though, she did want to see if his reactions were consistent, as before - he always flinched when he heard himself speak back to him (a situation so confusing even the sentence is a mess), so she wondered if he would do it again. Perhaps landfolk had the same sort of fear of their voice being stolen?
The questions began, as Wormwood talked.
Bats? Training dummies? Questions began to rattle around in her brain, wild and free. What were bats, and what were training dummies? Her talent for analysis only took her so far, but it at least took her far enough to understand that bats were an animal (probably - might also be swamp spirits), and that training dummies were some sort of fabric-hay construct used for... well, for training. But for training what? And why were they in a tree? Why did bats like it, swamp spirit or otherwise? And why were they in a tree?
Rattle, rattle, rattling around in her head, gumballs loose and free to bounce in a broken gumball machine. Sometimes the inability to ask questions got so frustrating that it hurt. Not her head, not where the questions rattled about, but in her throat. It felt like a limb had been lost and her brain was trying to use it, trying to feel anything, but to no avail. Phantom pain, the phenomenon was called - but she didn't know that. Sometimes she wished she could scream, as Worm did, and let it all out. She wondered if bats wanted to scream too, and if that's why they tore up the dummies. Perhaps they were voiceless, like her, and just needed to vent. The spirit theory was sounding more and more accurate by the second.
Wormwood, or Caldera as she liked to call him, was rambling about something, about someone. She half paid attention, instead picking up fabrics, as he had asked. Feza, was the person he was talking about. Someone who could repair things. That didn't track in her mind, though - Feza sounded like a way more energetic name than just a simple repairperson. Sewing fabrics together... no, that was too fun a name for that, surely. It sounded like fizz, or fez (fezes were wonderful hats, she learned on one expedition), fiesta, frizzle, frazzle. It sounded like the popping of a balloon, not the agile motion of needle through thread. Rattle, rattle, rattle - more questions joined the fray. Her throat hurt, distractingly. She didn't notice Crowley, not even his little blunder with the fabric. A scream built up in her throat, and she thought of Wormwood's scream, and opened her mouth:
"Haven't met Feza yet," she replied, simply, when her mouth was free. She couldn't scream, no. Some people's screams were never heard. You could only hope they didn't end up like bats did, tearing up some fabrics just to let something out, she thought miserably.
The questions began, as Wormwood talked.
Bats? Training dummies? Questions began to rattle around in her brain, wild and free. What were bats, and what were training dummies? Her talent for analysis only took her so far, but it at least took her far enough to understand that bats were an animal (probably - might also be swamp spirits), and that training dummies were some sort of fabric-hay construct used for... well, for training. But for training what? And why were they in a tree? Why did bats like it, swamp spirit or otherwise? And why were they in a tree?
Rattle, rattle, rattling around in her head, gumballs loose and free to bounce in a broken gumball machine. Sometimes the inability to ask questions got so frustrating that it hurt. Not her head, not where the questions rattled about, but in her throat. It felt like a limb had been lost and her brain was trying to use it, trying to feel anything, but to no avail. Phantom pain, the phenomenon was called - but she didn't know that. Sometimes she wished she could scream, as Worm did, and let it all out. She wondered if bats wanted to scream too, and if that's why they tore up the dummies. Perhaps they were voiceless, like her, and just needed to vent. The spirit theory was sounding more and more accurate by the second.
Wormwood, or Caldera as she liked to call him, was rambling about something, about someone. She half paid attention, instead picking up fabrics, as he had asked. Feza, was the person he was talking about. Someone who could repair things. That didn't track in her mind, though - Feza sounded like a way more energetic name than just a simple repairperson. Sewing fabrics together... no, that was too fun a name for that, surely. It sounded like fizz, or fez (fezes were wonderful hats, she learned on one expedition), fiesta, frizzle, frazzle. It sounded like the popping of a balloon, not the agile motion of needle through thread. Rattle, rattle, rattle - more questions joined the fray. Her throat hurt, distractingly. She didn't notice Crowley, not even his little blunder with the fabric. A scream built up in her throat, and she thought of Wormwood's scream, and opened her mouth:
"Haven't met Feza yet," she replied, simply, when her mouth was free. She couldn't scream, no. Some people's screams were never heard. You could only hope they didn't end up like bats did, tearing up some fabrics just to let something out, she thought miserably.
tags - "speech"
dms are always open if you need to talk to someone or just want a friend :^)