Still I'm spinning like a roundabout in motion
On the front of the Kashtta, there is a small heap of angles, knotted hair, and tattered clothes. It's up against the Kashtta's wall, one hand pressed flat against the building's wall and face totally obscured by tangles. For a good few minutes, it doesn't move, but then with a small gasp, the hand balls into a fist, hits the wall, then uncurls
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Though she supposes if there's one place she's always found communion, it's with deities. It's surprising, yet sensible, in that respect, that Babel would act this way. It's exactly what she'd expect, but Chicago's taught her not to expect the familiar.
She doesn't know if Babel's happy or sad, when she says no one wants to live forever. She doesn't know if she's happy or sad. She doesn't know what she feels right now, other than-- flooded.
She's at a loss for what else to do. So she simply leans forward, over the kittens, and hugs Babel tight. "Everything'll be okay," she says, softly. Because it's what she believes, at the heart of all else, no matter the circumstance.
In the absolute long run, everything will be okay.
Even if all the worlds burn, and everything they both know is gone, things will be okay.
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But she can never argue with hugs.
"Everything's okay in the end," she whispers. "If it's not okay, it's not the end." She can feel Iris's bodybeats so loudly, so strongly, that they threaten to overwhelm her again, and she taps them out on the other girl's shoulderblades without registering she's doing anything. "Bullshit, all of it, all a bunk and a bunker won't keep you safe in the end--nothing won't keep--"
There's a gasp as she cuts herself off. "It's close to midnight," she tells Iris, pulling out of the hug and holding the girl's shoulders. "She thinks, has never been so unsure, so sure, so..." And then she breaks off again, letting go of Iris and looking away, down at the sidewalk and out toward the cars, the people passing them on the sidewalk.
For a second she seems to completely forget what's going on -- and indeed, if she could, she would. And then she looks back at Iris, gives her a sad smile, and plonks her head against the Tower again. It's comforting, in a weird way, this tower that hurt her so much when she was living in it, but she's not sure she could manage to go inside just yet.
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She wants to meditate to it, to let herself get lost in the tapping, let her selfhood slip away until the slight touches are all that's left. Right on her wings, too. Her would-be wings. It's easy to put her focus there, into those twin knots of energy and hope. They're already magically hyperaware, like the universe has two fishing lines run through those spots on hooks. And when it pulls, she dances. She follows.
--she needs not to think about this right now.
But then Babel's pulling away, and she hears it's close to midnight. "Do you have to go?" she asks, tilting her head. It makes a strange kind of sense, to her heart. She's so much like the light to Allen's shadow. Perhaps she disappears at the stroke of midnight, like all good fairy tales do.
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No. "No." She doesn't have to go. "Yes." She always does, at the end. "Not now, just...when it all comes crashing down." There's a little sliver of hope now, just a little; maybe this time she won't. Maybe this time the clouds will leave her alone. They've been so absent.
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"--But until then. Find me." Her words are quiet, reverent. It's not a command; it's an option. An offer. "Find me any time. Here." She touches her heart. "Or here." Her hand goes to her head. "I know you know how."
It's her Babel-attuned way of saying, If you need me, I'll be there.
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