sprent: (voices silent)
Gela Baynrac ([personal profile] sprent) wrote2022-07-13 09:06 am

INBOX


crystal, action, book, misc
boeric: (pic#17492877)

[personal profile] boeric 2024-12-08 09:29 am (UTC)(link)
"I do not." A loose gesture to the floor, "I have not your eyes. I steal your pins for blind steps."
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[personal profile] boeric 2024-12-17 01:30 am (UTC)(link)
A cluck in her teeth, dismissive of the apology -

"Tell me why it is where it is now."

A system means nothing if Gela won't use it. She stoops to sweep a tangle of fallen hair between fingers. There are three of them in here, it's tumbleweeds no matter how you try.
boeric: (pic#17409975)

[personal profile] boeric 2025-01-19 12:12 am (UTC)(link)
"I see." Low to high, beginning to end. It's a system. "Must you see them in turn?"

She's known some minds to vanish for a box.
boeric: (pic#17699725)

[personal profile] boeric 2025-02-25 06:25 am (UTC)(link)
It gives her a headache. The whorl of colour and goods packed tight, like some cramped voyage below-decks; seasick for hammocks and stale air. Claustrophobic as a market.

She doesn't say this. It invites questions. Instead:

"I think this is good way to damage cloth. They give you no workspace?"
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[personal profile] boeric 2025-03-24 05:33 am (UTC)(link)
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.
Edited 2025-03-24 05:33 (UTC)
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[personal profile] boeric 2025-04-30 06:59 am (UTC)(link)
"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."
boeric: (pic#17424623)

[personal profile] boeric 2025-05-25 07:17 am (UTC)(link)
"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."
boeric: (pic#17699719)

[personal profile] boeric 2025-05-28 06:14 am (UTC)(link)
"Home is the Qun." That isn't a lie, but it's only one truth. You learn to hold them together, the pieces side-by-side. Dangerous, strange, home. "And your harbor has fog enough."

"This is very different from road,"

A prompt. Gela had traveled light.