Really looks, that intent kind of stare that Serif has down to an art. It's the type of stare that would otherwise be used in a private conversation in a nice restaurant, or in a long, golden hallway. But unlike those times, he's flying blind here.
He's missing information. But he has no clue what kind.]
Well, don't sweat it, kiddo. Heh, I sure have ended up in some weird places when I'm tired, so I can't judge.
[Once upon a time, Grit would have squirmed beneath that look.
They don't even twitch. They don't even have a problem meeting his gaze; if anything, his quiet judgement seems to steady them. Like they know what he's doing. Like they've been through that before.]
You should go back to sleep.
[And just like that, they're turning away. It hurts (it will never, ever not hurt) but their voice is even enough, at least.]
The moment they're out the door, Grit just- stands there, for a while. Stock still. When they finally do move, it's not to anywhere in particular. Just away from the door, so no one trips over them. That's where they sit- against the wall, too afraid to speak up. Too afraid to call for help.
Cup's gone. Away in solitary confinement; to train, get better. The details are vague but the lack of presence is there. Seemingly out of nowhere, Serif doesn't remember them. And maybe he's not the only one. Maybe everyone's forgotten them; all RESET without even the slightest vibration on the wind telling Grit that something's very, very wrong.
Usually, there's a lot of rooms they could go to. A lot of people who might have comforted them, or hugged them. Made them feel like it was okay, they could get through this. Things would get worse and better, like they always do.
But Grit's too afraid. They can't find their voice. They can't even find any tears. More than anything, they want Serif to walk through that door, and take them for some hot chocolate. It's not going to happen, though. What's that wording, again?
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no subject
Really looks, that intent kind of stare that Serif has down to an art. It's the type of stare that would otherwise be used in a private conversation in a nice restaurant, or in a long, golden hallway. But unlike those times, he's flying blind here.
He's missing information. But he has no clue what kind.]
Well, don't sweat it, kiddo. Heh, I sure have ended up in some weird places when I'm tired, so I can't judge.
no subject
They don't even twitch. They don't even have a problem meeting his gaze; if anything, his quiet judgement seems to steady them. Like they know what he's doing. Like they've been through that before.]
You should go back to sleep.
[And just like that, they're turning away. It hurts (it will never, ever not hurt) but their voice is even enough, at least.]
Good night, d- Serif.
no subject
But that doesn't mean he doesn't find it weird when the kid is so cool under pressure. Way too cool. It's like they've done it before.
But that's impossible, right?]
...Huh.
[It's a weird night.]
...
Yeah, sure.
[Something's not adding up and he hates that he can't place it.]
You rest up too.
no subject
...
The moment they're out the door, Grit just- stands there, for a while. Stock still. When they finally do move, it's not to anywhere in particular. Just away from the door, so no one trips over them. That's where they sit- against the wall, too afraid to speak up. Too afraid to call for help.
Cup's gone. Away in solitary confinement; to train, get better. The details are vague but the lack of presence is there. Seemingly out of nowhere, Serif doesn't remember them. And maybe he's not the only one. Maybe everyone's forgotten them; all RESET without even the slightest vibration on the wind telling Grit that something's very, very wrong.
Usually, there's a lot of rooms they could go to. A lot of people who might have comforted them, or hugged them. Made them feel like it was okay, they could get through this. Things would get worse and better, like they always do.
But Grit's too afraid. They can't find their voice. They can't even find any tears. More than anything, they want Serif to walk through that door, and take them for some hot chocolate. It's not going to happen, though. What's that wording, again?
⚹But nobody came.]