Voice | Unseelie Lockets | All H. Compasses

[raavashing]

[Late in the evening of the 14th day of May, Wan's voice comes over the networks very briefly. It is haggard, quiet, almost dead sounding. It sat at the edge of being numb to everything.]

I'm sorry.

Comments

poor snowflake

[desperate_times]

[This kid needs to be corrupted, stat.]

You don't like beer? What do you drink?

[raavashing]

[It's more fun to make fun of his goody-two-shoes-ness]

Tea. I drink tea. I don't like the taste of alcohol.

[He'd had more than enough of it over Samhain.]

[desperate_times]

Tea?

Alright, if that's what you like.

[raavashing]

You don't have to buy it. I can make it.

[desperate_times]

... Alright.. you make us tea then.

[She's not sure this is helping at all. The original intention was good, but now instead of her buying him a drink, he's making tea.]

[raavashing]

[Tea he could do. Tea he liked. Tea was something he cared about having. A simple luxury that many overlooked, but was a reminder of how far he'd come since being banished from his former home.]

Okay. When?

[desperate_times]

When do you want? Are you at Caer Scima?

[raavashing]

No.

[While Wan had been edging back to his numbed state a moment before, there was now clear anger and disgust in his answer. A harsh word, firmly said.]

Anywhere but there.

[desperate_times]

O-kaaay.

The station, then?

[raavashing]

[His voice went back to the near-empty tone, the temporary spark of anger no longer a focus.]

I can get there. When?

[desperate_times]

Whenever you want. Now. Tomorrow. A week from today.

[raavashing]

A couple weeks. I need some time to myself.

Thank you.

[desperate_times]

Alright. See you then.