[The shift in him reminds her of a series of locks - a door closes, water rises behind it a and whatever the yellow eyes creature is pushed slowly higher until it reaches some kind of spillway. Airlocks. Breach doors. All those twisting, low thoughts shuttered abruptly as something-- shifts.
Cathaway places the metal rods back on the small tray. She makes no immediate move to help Aoba from the floor and instead snaps her databank from some interior pocket of her wrap, unfolding it for review.]
Not quite, but we understand the sentiment. Would you like some water?
[To the Prince and only to him radiates a pulsing warmth, a nonverbal flash of sterile gratitude underwritten by the texture of a question - would he prefer to leave?]
no subject
Cathaway places the metal rods back on the small tray. She makes no immediate move to help Aoba from the floor and instead snaps her databank from some interior pocket of her wrap, unfolding it for review.]
Not quite, but we understand the sentiment. Would you like some water?
[To the Prince and only to him radiates a pulsing warmth, a nonverbal flash of sterile gratitude underwritten by the texture of a question - would he prefer to leave?]