mental link

[circumspector]

[ someone's up and awake again. Not so tired sounding, though. This time, she's remembered to go and eat before she reaches out to the rest of the hive. ]

( Is anyone in the Bearings that can give me an update on what I've... missed? As much detail as possible.

If it were safer, I might suggest we start keeping more accessible records for these... interludes. )

[ She's not fond of this not knowing everything all the time ever. Which on the note of: she sighs, little echoing tumbling thought that is edged with frustration. ]

( And... does anyone what kind of tricks lions should do? Are they meant to be predators? Are they meant to be tamed?

.... Actually, does anyone know what a lion is? I'm starting to realise I don't know very much about animals if they aren't trying to eat you. Which isn't particularly useful, right now. )

[ ... and for anyone looking for Angel, she will be with a strew of mechanical parts around her that is half in her room, half in the corridor for her shiny new, tackely bright gold performing robotic lion. ]

Comments

[circumspector]

Kind of a long story - [ and she laughs it off, waving it away. It is what she is, she's accepted it. A small price to pay, and not the worst one she's had to deal with so far. ]

That's okay. [ As his hand settles in hers, she curls her fingers around and - sighs, softly. Calmly - she maps. Maps him, draws this part of him she is coming to know as they talk. Like it's a file and she is madly taking notes. She doesn't have to present those thoughts and notes anymore, no, but she finds herself still doing it. He, Shiro, he who worries, so he says, who has the slaughter rings in his mind. Doesn't seem to like that mouthful of blood like people she knows do. That likes the feel of rain, or at least of relief that comes with it. His hand is - solid in her own. Her thumb sweeps across the back of his hand, up over the bumps and valleys of knuckles. Easy to do, as ever, she is sensitive to touch in a way that tingles pleasantly to the closeness that contact brings to the mental link. She has no scars, no marring upon her body. Gentle, and she uses to know his hand in hers. ]

Are you ready?

[shiro2hero]

Aren't they all?

[Aren't all their stories long? And complicated. Nothing is simple. As much as they wish it was.]

[He's not sure what this is going to entail. Or what she's doing, stroking his hand like that. It isn't unpleasant. And it's helping ease the nerves at trying to link himself into someone's mind. She doesn't seem like the kind of person to go purposefully rooting around, he trusts that. Occasionally flexing his fingers a little, a few small, old scars along his knuckles catching on her fingertips.]

Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be.

[circumspector]

[ She nods, just the once and changes herself then - a authorative tone, but not forceful. Merely controlled, sure of what she's saying. Comfortable, no sudden movements to be skittish about. Knows, even as much now glories in her freedom, that when you're scared of the things you can't help, that someone just taking even a little bit of that responsibility...

... It's a relief, she remembers. ( Once upon a time, Jack hadn't been the worst father to exist. ) ]

Alright, I'll show you how to quiet everyone first. You'll just have to follow my lead, okay, I'll control it for the both of us the first time.

[ She lets him in, through the connection that's deeper for their holding hands. Skin to skin, and hopes its enough to settle him, like a door she opens to the lightness of her own mind the other side. Her mind is not a tumble - but it is full. A thousand things speak in it, beyond the hive, from the lion at her side, to the connection she absently keeps to network. Churning through her and out again, she's a river of information that churns. But: everyone and everything is managed and carefully arranged. Everything has a place, everything is kept neat. The only part that isn't is the thud of something she cannot control, the purple strange statues and lights under proverbial foot. Old and aching somewhere deep that she cannot quite keep out.

But still, even so, she does her best to keep it - to the walls, even as old statues seem to peer in from all sides. Watching, watching, watching, old, old, old. But this imposed order, for her, it's the difference between sanity and losing herself.

Lets him in, softly spoken, echoing oddly off the walls, the thought comes across. ]

( Okay so far? )