[There's something here. There has to be. Whatever's bubbling up under the surface of the forest, under the bark of the tree, boils up here - thoughts become visions, data is data. Erika snaps back to it every time her memories pick up somewhere useful. She also snaps back to the fathomless well of worry (stop underselling it, it's fear) for every person here, and some more than others, and what she could do if she weren't compromised, and what she couldn't do in any case, and how far short what she can do falls of what's necessary, and -
Every minute Maya is in her sight is a minute Maya isn't out of her sight. That's something. Something is more than nothing. Nothing keeps swooping in and pressing contentment into the folds of her brain, but surfacing to something is an accomplishment. Erika near chases her down. It wouldn't be so quiet, out of courtesy in a darkened hall, except that most things Erika does are quiet, and she forgets to make noise.
Faces, silhouettes, she keeps getting her and it's well past the point of starting to put her on edge because if it's coming from her own brain that feels like some kind of warning. Maya's are pleasantly unfamiliar. She accepts the clinging with a little oomph and clings back, weirdly hugging Maya's arm with laser intent.]
Mine are always - [she mumbles and then looks and leans back sharply.] Never mind. [Awkward maneuvering to try to make the weird arm-hug a less-weird hug-like grip. It may or may not work. In the mirror, butterflies start to crowd in fussily, pinging off of Legion like wadded papers off a trashcan rim.
Hmmmmm, she says, in an extremely hmm don't like that tone.]
like five days after i started writing this thing. it's II.
Every minute Maya is in her sight is a minute Maya isn't out of her sight. That's something. Something is more than nothing. Nothing keeps swooping in and pressing contentment into the folds of her brain, but surfacing to something is an accomplishment. Erika near chases her down. It wouldn't be so quiet, out of courtesy in a darkened hall, except that most things Erika does are quiet, and she forgets to make noise.
Faces, silhouettes, she keeps getting her and it's well past the point of starting to put her on edge because if it's coming from her own brain that feels like some kind of warning. Maya's are pleasantly unfamiliar. She accepts the clinging with a little oomph and clings back, weirdly hugging Maya's arm with laser intent.]
Mine are always - [she mumbles and then looks and leans back sharply.] Never mind. [Awkward maneuvering to try to make the weird arm-hug a less-weird hug-like grip. It may or may not work. In the mirror, butterflies start to crowd in fussily, pinging off of Legion like wadded papers off a trashcan rim.
Hmmmmm, she says, in an extremely hmm don't like that tone.]