Hands Held Across the Rift

SAMUEL i am the ocean, crawling madly at your moon. and with one wanton whoop — Sam liked Rexanna; she gave thoughtful and considered answers, spoke quietly but confidently. He listened with an equal respect, hands on his knees and his face one of rapt attention. The important thing he'd been trying to find out was answered: she did not feel any resentment towards either side of her race. That meant what he had to suggest was a possibility, he hoped. Tapping his fingers on the side of his knee he tried to place his words carefully, looking beyond Rexanna at the wall behind her as he thought it through. "Well...I was thinking. The Ascended...especially after the Blight, we are not popular with people. I don't think attacking the Mathair is going to help matters either - at least with some people." He glanced at her, trying to gauge how she took that statement; The Voice had given him the peace to be calm about these considerations, but he knew he still had a tendency to overthink things, consider edges of situations others hadn't. "So I started wondering how we could improve our image with the other races. Then I realised - The Voice was once Abandoned, right? And we know that Abandoned can become Ascended, like you did. What if...we tried to make the Abandoned almost...our friends? They have no connections to the Old Gods, which is a large reason people are reticent to agree with us..." He trailed off, chewing at his lip and looking at Rexanna to see what she thought of his idea. — i melt into a sycophantic soup, & all that's left to do, is giggle, fawn, and swoon.