"Pheres," Sipara says, her voice carefully controlled. "You cool?"
No, you want to say.
Sun exposure seemed a melodramatic way to go earlier, but now you're back to seriously considering it - or maybe just crawling into that closet and seeing if you can't hide under the pile of coats. The moirails are probably sleeping: they wouldn't notice.
Anything would be better than thinking about Riccin's glib comment about engines and seadwellers.
But you can't go and die, no matter how tempting the thought is: Sipara's right there on the phone with you, and if you ran off, she'd come up just to murder you herself. You huff, drawing in on yourself, but the thought is soothing in an unpleasant sort of way.
"Yeah," you finally say, and my, your voice sounds terrible. It's all dry and raspy, and your mouth feels like it's been stuffed with porous combed wool balls. You love warmth, but the heat of noon is too much even for you. "I mean - yes. I'm alright."
"I can't stop sparking, though." You pull a face for all that no one can see you, and then you shake your head, just to see what'll happen. Sure enough, the gesture leaves a spray of light all around you, sparks flying off of your hair and skin like water. This is awful. "Do you suppose -- should I just go back inside, and sleep it off?"
"They're greenbloods, mostly," you add. "Maybe someone just - didn't realise I had psionics, and put the honey in on accident."
no subject
No, you want to say.
Sun exposure seemed a melodramatic way to go earlier, but now you're back to seriously considering it - or maybe just crawling into that closet and seeing if you can't hide under the pile of coats. The moirails are probably sleeping: they wouldn't notice.
Anything would be better than thinking about Riccin's glib comment about engines and seadwellers.
But you can't go and die, no matter how tempting the thought is: Sipara's right there on the phone with you, and if you ran off, she'd come up just to murder you herself. You huff, drawing in on yourself, but the thought is soothing in an unpleasant sort of way.
"Yeah," you finally say, and my, your voice sounds terrible. It's all dry and raspy, and your mouth feels like it's been stuffed with porous combed wool balls. You love warmth, but the heat of noon is too much even for you. "I mean - yes. I'm alright."
"I can't stop sparking, though." You pull a face for all that no one can see you, and then you shake your head, just to see what'll happen. Sure enough, the gesture leaves a spray of light all around you, sparks flying off of your hair and skin like water. This is awful. "Do you suppose -- should I just go back inside, and sleep it off?"
"They're greenbloods, mostly," you add. "Maybe someone just - didn't realise I had psionics, and put the honey in on accident."