Room 218; Late Friday Afternoon.
Adah had taken her time, as usual, after math class, to get back to her room; she idly had considered the fact that there was an assembly, and was on route there, to find a good place and sit and watch and judge her fellow peers, when something more interesting crossed into her field of interest to watch instead. Very, very tiny men, or what could be assumed to be men, dressed in very tiny armour, some on very tiny horses, with very tiny weapons in their hands. They babbled with sounds she'd never heard before and she was briefly reminded of the African pygmies in the jungles outside of Kilanga, but these were much smaller and, she discovered after sitting back and watching them, much less interesting. They mostly just ran around and charged at things, tried to appear noble and only ended up being droll. So she left them, and continued her limp back to her room.
Where she found something she had not entirely expected hanging from the door.
At first, Adah had simply assumed that it was something for Honour, especially after taking a peek at it and seeing that it was a drawing, probably left for her by the nervous art kid who liked her roommate (who, she noticed in a dull back thought, had seemed very missing from the room lately). A closer inspection, throwing privacy and consideration to the wind for the sake of the ever gnawing curiosity, told Adah that her first impression was wrong, and that the drawing was not only for her, it appeared to be her and the drawing had come from River and appeared absolutely littered with so many things that her brain kept jumping from one to the other, almost refusing to stay.
She definitely had to go lie down before she could really focus on it; standing and sorting was an exercise in futility only. Laying down allowed her to process words better; it allowed her marvel at how the implications of wearing yellow on homecoming had completely passed through her realization, how she recognized almost all of those viruses and how she was slightly disappointed that the characters must be Chinese instead of Japanese, or else she'd understand those, too. That River understood the unfairness prevelant in everything, but what did that have to do with her being the focal point of a drawing. The dream that was not a dream still remain a dream. Dream, a! Remain still. Dream a knot; was that dream the? Dream that was not a dream. What did that mean? Adah's eyes scanned the picture again, frowning, feeling much like she was sitting in the kitchen of the hut in Kilanga, having Nelson explain to her again and again concepts like how trees were people, how yet dirt was not, and why twins should be left to die in the jungles.
Biting her lip as her eyes danced over the paper, she tried to find that question River said was hidden there, although, already, she had a feeling that she knew, but, of course, like so many other things, she was conspiring against herself in accepting that as truth, even the slanted truth.
[[ up early due to piggybacking shifts of DOOOOOM in a few hours. Open, but SP is total complete like-coffee-and-pie love after 3pm EST ]]
Where she found something she had not entirely expected hanging from the door.
At first, Adah had simply assumed that it was something for Honour, especially after taking a peek at it and seeing that it was a drawing, probably left for her by the nervous art kid who liked her roommate (who, she noticed in a dull back thought, had seemed very missing from the room lately). A closer inspection, throwing privacy and consideration to the wind for the sake of the ever gnawing curiosity, told Adah that her first impression was wrong, and that the drawing was not only for her, it appeared to be her and the drawing had come from River and appeared absolutely littered with so many things that her brain kept jumping from one to the other, almost refusing to stay.
She definitely had to go lie down before she could really focus on it; standing and sorting was an exercise in futility only. Laying down allowed her to process words better; it allowed her marvel at how the implications of wearing yellow on homecoming had completely passed through her realization, how she recognized almost all of those viruses and how she was slightly disappointed that the characters must be Chinese instead of Japanese, or else she'd understand those, too. That River understood the unfairness prevelant in everything, but what did that have to do with her being the focal point of a drawing. The dream that was not a dream still remain a dream. Dream, a! Remain still. Dream a knot; was that dream the? Dream that was not a dream. What did that mean? Adah's eyes scanned the picture again, frowning, feeling much like she was sitting in the kitchen of the hut in Kilanga, having Nelson explain to her again and again concepts like how trees were people, how yet dirt was not, and why twins should be left to die in the jungles.
Biting her lip as her eyes danced over the paper, she tried to find that question River said was hidden there, although, already, she had a feeling that she knew, but, of course, like so many other things, she was conspiring against herself in accepting that as truth, even the slanted truth.
[[ up early due to piggybacking shifts of DOOOOOM in a few hours. Open, but SP is total complete like-coffee-and-pie love after 3pm EST ]]