[It's an outrageous thing to hear, after a hundred days of curses and pleas, half of which he imagined himself, nightmares that projected themselves into an imaginary canvas that looked a lot like this world. He watched Blink lay sweating, silent, sick before the path of artificial fires; he saw Sonya get shot, standing in the neon green of this absurd forest. He saw the Strucker children's crying faces in the boy he accidentally slew. All that has made itself normal.
Threats are the language of this place, better if you make good on them. Promises, now—
He wastes a long few seconds just looking. But it's not his power, to tell if someone speaks the truth or not. Any mild tic or ruffle, even the deep absence of them, has him doubting either Rafa's intentions or his own judgment. He needs to find somewhere safe to sleep.]
You're new, [he says, but not until after he's already started walking.] I know that's going to end. Better be your way, Rafa.
no subject
Threats are the language of this place, better if you make good on them. Promises, now—
He wastes a long few seconds just looking. But it's not his power, to tell if someone speaks the truth or not. Any mild tic or ruffle, even the deep absence of them, has him doubting either Rafa's intentions or his own judgment. He needs to find somewhere safe to sleep.]
You're new, [he says, but not until after he's already started walking.] I know that's going to end. Better be your way, Rafa.