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Oh. (Gela is having the same feeling an eight year old might have about wanting to go for a sleepover at a friend's house, never their own house (why would you want to come to my house when it's so boring there??).) Yes, I suppose it will in time.
It's going well?
It's going well?
An overcorrection, then. It's flawed. It's also mollifying. She knows the particular irritation of an absent tool.
"Where do you travel?"
Which must pass for: Good, we're agreed, or thank you, I appreciate it. Too proud to stoop to gratitude — not so much that she won't begin winding a loose skein of thread. If you spy a problem, you pitch in.
"Where do you travel?"
Which must pass for: Good, we're agreed, or thank you, I appreciate it. Too proud to stoop to gratitude — not so much that she won't begin winding a loose skein of thread. If you spy a problem, you pitch in.
Edited 2025-03-24 05:33 (UTC)
"OK. Worth knowing. Hasn't come up as far as I know, which is unhelpful if you want to know his movements but good in that, like, Riftwatch wasn't secretly working with a psychopath without knowing it." She'll take that small win. "I can alert Yseult and Rowntree, in case we come across him anywhere. If we do, is it." A pause. "Would you like to know, or do you need to not know? If it comes up."
"I..."
Gela isn't sure what to think. There's too much to think about right now, Cosima has given her endless what if scenarios she needs to go and imagine in full, heart-stopping detail. Again, she's stopped gardening. When she finds her voice it is soft but still there, still going. "Can I think on that and let you know? You can still alert Yseult and Marcus."
Gela isn't sure what to think. There's too much to think about right now, Cosima has given her endless what if scenarios she needs to go and imagine in full, heart-stopping detail. Again, she's stopped gardening. When she finds her voice it is soft but still there, still going. "Can I think on that and let you know? You can still alert Yseult and Marcus."
"I don't much any more but I used to. I came here from Nevarra and I stopped at most places in between.
"How about you?"
Doubtless she came here from some place else. She smiles when she sees the skein being wound. Gela doesn't need the promise of gratitude to want to be accommodating but the help is a silent little thank you of its own.
"How about you?"
Doubtless she came here from some place else. She smiles when she sees the skein being wound. Gela doesn't need the promise of gratitude to want to be accommodating but the help is a silent little thank you of its own.
"I know." She has noticed this about him — he looks to people he's thinking of and watches them, brings them into conversation, skirting around questions nobody wants to answer. He'll knead it slowly out of them once they relax a little instead and it's hard to do a thing like that, Gela should know. It makes you worry-prone. Once you know people enough you can notice when something's off. Intimacy is nice, has a price tag to match.
His brow is furrowed. She can see a line she'd put her thumb on if he didn't choose that moment to heap their hands together — his feel good, strong. Kind. Like he wouldn't press on a bruise unless he had to.
And yet he's missing half an ear; anchors himself the ground in armor; once left plates of food just outside her room.
"Tell me more?"
She could use the point of connection to pull him closer. She wants to. She could put her chin on his shoulder and skirt her knee up his hip and over it but that would cease, quickly, to be listening. And she wants to look at his eyes while he's talking anyway.
His brow is furrowed. She can see a line she'd put her thumb on if he didn't choose that moment to heap their hands together — his feel good, strong. Kind. Like he wouldn't press on a bruise unless he had to.
And yet he's missing half an ear; anchors himself the ground in armor; once left plates of food just outside her room.
"Tell me more?"
She could use the point of connection to pull him closer. She wants to. She could put her chin on his shoulder and skirt her knee up his hip and over it but that would cease, quickly, to be listening. And she wants to look at his eyes while he's talking anyway.
"Yeah, of course. I know I threw a lot at you, just let me know when you've landed on an answer. And like, I don't have any reason to think it's going to come up any time soon, other than that there's been a lot of Riftwatch contact with Nevarra recently. But it's a big country, it's not like it's inevitable we'll hear anything at all."
Cosima seems as if she might reach out, but after a moment she thinks better of it. Still, her voice is soft. "Thank you. I know it wasn't pleasant for me to show up and sour your gardening with these kind of questions. But I really do want to help, if I can."
Cosima seems as if she might reach out, but after a moment she thinks better of it. Still, her voice is soft. "Thank you. I know it wasn't pleasant for me to show up and sour your gardening with these kind of questions. But I really do want to help, if I can."
"Seheron," She's learned not to expect that name will ring here. The jaws of the Imperium eclipse its prey. "Big island in the north. Many more islands, before ocean and Qunandar. Places in between."
A sidelong smile in return.
"I do not go this far south before."
A sidelong smile in return.
"I do not go this far south before."
"And I haven't been that far north before."
Across the ocean — no, never. She has paused in the middle of gathering buttons in one palm to tip into a jar, intrigued, and now sits up a little straighter in order to lean in. "What's it like?"
The big island, in the north.
Across the ocean — no, never. She has paused in the middle of gathering buttons in one palm to tip into a jar, intrigued, and now sits up a little straighter in order to lean in. "What's it like?"
The big island, in the north.
"The clouds are low enough to touch."
Dangerous, she'd told Strange. It is. That isn't what passes before memory's eye:
"Climb a tree and your head finds mist. The bark hangs red with rain, any time of year, but in seasons it is hard to breathe for sweetness of flowers."
Dangerous, she'd told Strange. It is. That isn't what passes before memory's eye:
"Climb a tree and your head finds mist. The bark hangs red with rain, any time of year, but in seasons it is hard to breathe for sweetness of flowers."
"It sounds strange." Beautiful should be the first word here perhaps but it doesn't seem right to say that though the mist does sound ethereal. Looking down to deliver the buttons to the jar, "You're good at describing it.
"Do you feel... like you could be home, here? Somewhere so different?"
"Do you feel... like you could be home, here? Somewhere so different?"
"Is it?" Gela looks up again. "I don't know very much about it."
And she's tempted to sit and wait for her to answer that prompt instead of pivoting to her past but Gela's missed her opening. She nods and caps the button jar. "Very different. Good-different. I liked travelling and seeing everything I could but it was hard to keep much money and I missed having the same bed."
And she's tempted to sit and wait for her to answer that prompt instead of pivoting to her past but Gela's missed her opening. She nods and caps the button jar. "Very different. Good-different. I liked travelling and seeing everything I could but it was hard to keep much money and I missed having the same bed."
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