Go
deep throat
a cactus
“It’s not your fault,” comes tightly, but true. It isn’t. He hadn’t gone to Safrin for a fucking door, he hadn’t asked Sam for fluid, he hadn’t done anything but show up for a week of hell.
Turning to fix him with a gaze as hard as he is weary, she continues. “They're trying to kill us. All of us. First Ludo, now Safrin.” A harsh snort. “I’d bet my life that Ludo never truly stopped.” It’s exactly what she would have done with absent Old Gods who profess one thing and then leave their representatives to mangle whatever they stand for. And though this isn’t the place or time, and though she’d said she would be there to help him, she can’t help the unspoken challenge that creeps into her voice. The silent questions that he may or may not hear: does he condone it?
She won’t say it aloud - at least not now. Instead, she opts for some silence before drudging up another question. “How was the first night?”
Turning to fix him with a gaze as hard as he is weary, she continues. “They're trying to kill us. All of us. First Ludo, now Safrin.” A harsh snort. “I’d bet my life that Ludo never truly stopped.” It’s exactly what she would have done with absent Old Gods who profess one thing and then leave their representatives to mangle whatever they stand for. And though this isn’t the place or time, and though she’d said she would be there to help him, she can’t help the unspoken challenge that creeps into her voice. The silent questions that he may or may not hear: does he condone it?
She won’t say it aloud - at least not now. Instead, she opts for some silence before drudging up another question. “How was the first night?”
