Isla
It's a feeble positive, but it's a positive nonetheless, that Amun is alright, and Isla forces herself to feel it if for no other reason than to not dwell on the worst parts of the tale. "You came back," she says, as if to reiterate those good points. "And Nate will come back. We can recover from this." It's almost like she's talking to herself, the medic glancing back up at Wessex only once she's regained her composure.
"I mean this without malice, and I say it only because I have to, but gods, what a stupid thing to do," she whispers, riding out the words on a sigh. "You wouldn't have been able to stop Edy even if you'd been on good terms, though." More tears sting in her eyes. "I hope she went down fighting, at least. That would have been her style."
Still, Isla assumes that this is the end of the story, but when Wessex leaves it hanging again, her pebble blues grow wide. "...What did you do?" she wants to know, feeling the prickle of something like panic try to creep up her spine, only for calm and logic to squash it back down.
"I mean this without malice, and I say it only because I have to, but gods, what a stupid thing to do," she whispers, riding out the words on a sigh. "You wouldn't have been able to stop Edy even if you'd been on good terms, though." More tears sting in her eyes. "I hope she went down fighting, at least. That would have been her style."
Still, Isla assumes that this is the end of the story, but when Wessex leaves it hanging again, her pebble blues grow wide. "...What did you do?" she wants to know, feeling the prickle of something like panic try to creep up her spine, only for calm and logic to squash it back down.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
