Will you stay or will you go Yes, you will provide me with a place to stay.
[ There's something imperious, impatient, in the thing she says. Although she says it, however, it is not her true feeling. There had had been something to living with others again. Any of her former housemates will know as much, no matter how she tries to hide it. She had always been poking her head in to look at them, to listen to their conversations, even if she had sourly kept herself on the edges of them. She had been quick to pick arguments over mess and rules, not because she cared that much, but because she seemed not to know how to start a conversation any other way. Anyone with an ounce of cleverness will have seen this in her. Her scowls try to hide loneliness, and fail when you see her wear them more than a few days in a row.
And even in demanding her solitude, it's just an attempt to hide. To give herself a place where she can curl up and remain uncaring about the foolish people around her. Already some of the people she recognized have disappeared, and she can only assume they are lost to her; if not outright dead. She has enough ghosts of her own without collecting them further.
She crosses her arms, and turns away from the council of natives, walking past the other visitors with her eyes down. ]
Therefore I lie with her Why do they think we need a leader at all?
[ She doesn't bother to keep that question quiet, at all. ]
None of you are any more capable than any other. We all, equally, know nothing.
TEAM THIRTEEN -- FENCE BUIDLING -- STILL OTA [ She is working with Kara Danvers to build a fence, a simple enough thing... but once the structure of it is built, she goes back in for another task. She has scratched out a number of wards into small sheaves of paper. A series of interconnected shapes, triangles and circles, lines sometimes parallel or perpendicular, old runes, and a kind of gibberish latin. In the center of each, a bloody thumb print. She uses a roll of wide-clear tape to fully cover and affix each of her sheaves to the fence.
Her kind are of the Solomonic tradition, anagramming Christian rites into profanity. For those inclined to know such things. ]
no subject
here
Will you stay or will you go
Yes, you will provide me with a place to stay.
[ There's something imperious, impatient, in the thing she says. Although she says it, however, it is not her true feeling. There had had been something to living with others again. Any of her former housemates will know as much, no matter how she tries to hide it. She had always been poking her head in to look at them, to listen to their conversations, even if she had sourly kept herself on the edges of them. She had been quick to pick arguments over mess and rules, not because she cared that much, but because she seemed not to know how to start a conversation any other way. Anyone with an ounce of cleverness will have seen this in her. Her scowls try to hide loneliness, and fail when you see her wear them more than a few days in a row.
And even in demanding her solitude, it's just an attempt to hide. To give herself a place where she can curl up and remain uncaring about the foolish people around her. Already some of the people she recognized have disappeared, and she can only assume they are lost to her; if not outright dead. She has enough ghosts of her own without collecting them further.
She crosses her arms, and turns away from the council of natives, walking past the other visitors with her eyes down. ]
Therefore I lie with her
Why do they think we need a leader at all?
[ She doesn't bother to keep that question quiet, at all. ]
None of you are any more capable than any other. We all, equally, know nothing.
TEAM THIRTEEN -- FENCE BUIDLING -- STILL OTA
[ She is working with Kara Danvers to build a fence, a simple enough thing... but once the structure of it is built, she goes back in for another task. She has scratched out a number of wards into small sheaves of paper. A series of interconnected shapes, triangles and circles, lines sometimes parallel or perpendicular, old runes, and a kind of gibberish latin. In the center of each, a bloody thumb print. She uses a roll of wide-clear tape to fully cover and affix each of her sheaves to the fence.
Her kind are of the Solomonic tradition, anagramming Christian rites into profanity. For those inclined to know such things. ]