BARTIE
alone
at last
at last
Watching Deimos draw, Bartie listened. She had little love for her own voice; if others were talking about her interests, she’d just as gladly hear them speak. The Guildmaster’s directness appealed to her, as did his ruminations.
When he spoke of choice, and the family, she hummed in vague annoyance, not so much at him but at the slipperiness of language. “Choice was the wrong word… Affinity, perhaps? My understanding of the void and the family is that they hijack a preexisting organism– parasites, in short. In the case of the family, it seems to involve hijacking the mind.”
Looking at the drawing Deimos was constructing, Bartie felt a quiver in her chest. It wasn’t terror. She wasn’t foolish enough to think fear was the only thing driving her to obsess over monsters. Etched in charcoal, the drawing took on a fantastical, gothic element that stirred something in her, something deep and low and wanting. When she spoke, it was in a hoarse voice, working to keep that something out.
“I don’t know if choice plays a role… I don’t know if it can be resisted. But even for more run of the mill parasites, some hosts are more hospitable than others. Wherever the parasite binds to may be more or less complementary to its binding methods.”
She fell quiet when Deimos spoke again, mulling over, feeling how much she’d talked in such a short period of time. Words frustrated her more than anything in all the world. Words always failed her, or tricked her, eluding her grasp. Deimos was inscrutable to her, as she tried not only to listen, but to deduce if a line had been crossed. Many had mocked her before, and Deimos had more grounds than most.
“What do you think they want from us? The family, I mean,” Bartie asked, curiosity driving her, the pretence of offering help seeming sillier by the minute.
When he spoke of choice, and the family, she hummed in vague annoyance, not so much at him but at the slipperiness of language. “Choice was the wrong word… Affinity, perhaps? My understanding of the void and the family is that they hijack a preexisting organism– parasites, in short. In the case of the family, it seems to involve hijacking the mind.”
Looking at the drawing Deimos was constructing, Bartie felt a quiver in her chest. It wasn’t terror. She wasn’t foolish enough to think fear was the only thing driving her to obsess over monsters. Etched in charcoal, the drawing took on a fantastical, gothic element that stirred something in her, something deep and low and wanting. When she spoke, it was in a hoarse voice, working to keep that something out.
“I don’t know if choice plays a role… I don’t know if it can be resisted. But even for more run of the mill parasites, some hosts are more hospitable than others. Wherever the parasite binds to may be more or less complementary to its binding methods.”
She fell quiet when Deimos spoke again, mulling over, feeling how much she’d talked in such a short period of time. Words frustrated her more than anything in all the world. Words always failed her, or tricked her, eluding her grasp. Deimos was inscrutable to her, as she tried not only to listen, but to deduce if a line had been crossed. Many had mocked her before, and Deimos had more grounds than most.
“What do you think they want from us? The family, I mean,” Bartie asked, curiosity driving her, the pretence of offering help seeming sillier by the minute.
terribly, completely
alone
alone
