[ She smiles, pleased to help, letting him get comfortable and squeezing his hand back as she settled herself. Going relaxed, her eyes closing and inhaling slowly.
It comes natural to her at least, broadening her mind against the walls around her. To use the connection of his fingers threaded with her own to let him in - and she does, like opening a door to a part of herself.
( Words, soft, careful, as much feeling as thought, here. )
Becuase here is the nebula of living, the constellations of behaviour, the shooting stars of emotion, black holes of griefs, asteroid belts of grief, their private universe that she does not find too much, not at all - rather she likes being part of the hive. She likes to sit and just let it wash over her. No fight in her against her. Her concerns are not so much with the heavens, but more earthly. The settle of his hand is distracting, in its way. She wants to set her palm to his and measure his fingers against her own and watch his eyes as she brushed her fingertips against his just to see what could be seen -
- and for that, she knows it is all overwhelming. There is so much, to being part of this hive. A cacophony of noises, speaking over the top of each other and she has thick walls against it that dim it as she lets him into her own mind. Within it, everything is no less busy, but like a planned city, it is organised, direct, she watches its flow with a careful eye, her control is an absolute in this place.
Nothing he needs to worry about being, right now, rather for the purposes for him, she lets the rest of the hive in, and at once it bursts in and it's always just a little, overwhelming. She takes a deep breath, and shows him then, like guiding his hand to paint -- ( breath, slowly, voice removed that speaks not quite right but, still her, somehow ) - and she dims it, slowly but surely, like turning the lights down in a room until the stars seem far, far away, and they are settled away from it, and it's more than anything -
- quiet. the chatter dimming like listening to someone two rooms away. ]
no subject
It comes natural to her at least, broadening her mind against the walls around her. To use the connection of his fingers threaded with her own to let him in - and she does, like opening a door to a part of herself.
( Words, soft, careful, as much feeling as thought, here. )
Becuase here is the nebula of living, the constellations of behaviour, the shooting stars of emotion, black holes of griefs, asteroid belts of grief, their private universe that she does not find too much, not at all - rather she likes being part of the hive. She likes to sit and just let it wash over her. No fight in her against her. Her concerns are not so much with the heavens, but more earthly. The settle of his hand is distracting, in its way. She wants to set her palm to his and measure his fingers against her own and watch his eyes as she brushed her fingertips against his just to see what could be seen -
- and for that, she knows it is all overwhelming. There is so much, to being part of this hive. A cacophony of noises, speaking over the top of each other and she has thick walls against it that dim it as she lets him into her own mind. Within it, everything is no less busy, but like a planned city, it is organised, direct, she watches its flow with a careful eye, her control is an absolute in this place.
Nothing he needs to worry about being, right now, rather for the purposes for him, she lets the rest of the hive in, and at once it bursts in and it's always just a little, overwhelming. She takes a deep breath, and shows him then, like guiding his hand to paint -- ( breath, slowly, voice removed that speaks not quite right but, still her, somehow ) - and she dims it, slowly but surely, like turning the lights down in a room until the stars seem far, far away, and they are settled away from it, and it's more than anything -
- quiet. the chatter dimming like listening to someone two rooms away. ]
( Better? )