we're always running scared but holding knives
"And so you should be, chasing me all the way to the gods damned beach," Isla sasses, obviously completely missing the gravity in Remi's words and gestures; he's spent enough time looking befuddled and vaguely sad since she'd run into him post-war, it hardly seems strange for him to be suddenly placating. For his next trick, he'll probably glower and call her a bitch.
As she tears a strip from her (already considerably frayed and ragged) skirts to carefully wrap her bleeding foot, the strange and serious tone of the Lullaby's voice finally seems to slip through, Isla raising her eyebrows as she glances across at the demigod on his knees. "Oh come now, it isn't all that bad," she murmurs, finding herself trying to reassure him even now. "It probably won't even leave a scar."
Too bad she's still talking past him in jagged lines.
As she tears a strip from her (already considerably frayed and ragged) skirts to carefully wrap her bleeding foot, the strange and serious tone of the Lullaby's voice finally seems to slip through, Isla raising her eyebrows as she glances across at the demigod on his knees. "Oh come now, it isn't all that bad," she murmurs, finding herself trying to reassure him even now. "It probably won't even leave a scar."
Too bad she's still talking past him in jagged lines.
Isla
