Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
Taking her time to set her burdens down onto the table - dried meat, dried fruits and cheese, hardtack and other preserved foodstuff that traveled well - Maea pulled up a chair for herself and sat down, arranging her skirts neatly about herself. From one paper bag she produced a second pastry. Through flaky layers of folded dough a crimson jam filling glimpsed through, and the surface glistened with sprinkled sugar. Breaking it in two, she offered one half to Michael and leaned back to nibble on her half, as she gathered her thoughts. Getting tired of my own words
"I have," she admitted reluctantly. An unpleasant experience for many reasons, where intrusion and inability to ward against it reigned supreme. "I suspect we have been hearing the same voice, as a matter of fact. Did you pay attention to what it was saying? Can you repeat some of it to me? I... don't doubt you, exactly. Just want to make sure it's not something else." Easy as it was to blame every misfortune on the invaders, it was still a possibility that this man's voices was something else entirely. Depending on his answer, there might be more and less she could help him with.
Catching a sour look from a waiter that passed by and saw that she'd brought food into the bar, Maea smiled blithely at them and asked for a glass of cider. It didn't seem to improve matters much, but the staff disappeared off to fetch her order, and left the pale little Ancient able to grant Michael her full attention.
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
