eleven // [video; closed] // backdated to Sunday morning

[notmycreampuffs]

[Filtered to Sheik, hackable.]

[it took her the better part of the morning to get to the point of having words, the whirling tempest of her mind calming to a mild wind

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[theeyeoftruth]

[he watches her hands for a moment, in quiet, before replying.

His voice is soft, unreadable, but not impassive.]

Mm.

You were out that night.

Are you alright?

[notmycreampuffs]

[She ignores his answer, his question, continuing on.]

So, your legs aren't broken or anything. You can walk, you haven't had any brain damage.

[Her tone has gained a bit of heat, struggling with a thin note of anger - not nearly as much as should be there, tempered by sheer relief.

But there's a very clear, unspoken line to her words: Get over here. Now.

She needs to see him for herself.]

[theeyeoftruth]

[He can hear that in the urgency of her tone.]

I can walk. It wasn't me that he was targeting.

[And soon enough he'll be joining her, leaning against the wall. He looks at her - closely, studying her. Because he, too, needs to see for himself that she's alright. His manner might be nonchalant, but his gaze is not.]

You met him.

[notmycreampuffs]

Yeah.

[Her movements cease, hands utterly still as she focuses on the ceiling, willing herself to be calm. Didn't she decide just yesterday that she was done with crying?]

Why did you do that.