IC Inbox
WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, AMANDA. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 102.92.004.06 *** gameover has joined 102.92.004.06 <gameover> This is Amanda. <gameover> If you need to contact me, do so here. <gameover> DO NOT waste my time with stupid shit. | ||||
<saturnschild>
Good. Very good.
We can meet in Dyster, you and I. The proper Dyster where the Fog God reigns. I can think of no more fitting place for Her most dedicated priests to reunite.
<gameover> -> action
[She'll be waiting in her home there, listening for his knock. There's nothing she'd rather do than wait to see him again.]
action
Not outwardly, of course. He still wears the same all-white garb and the helm made from shattered glass. But there's something unbalanced about him. Sleepless. Sick.
He knocks on her door with three, firm rap-tap-taps.]
no subject
Aunamee.
[Her voice is full of unshed tears. Aunamee is a very neat person--neat to a fault, not only in matters of cleanliness but in those of emotion as well. When it comes to the latter, Amanda is as messy as it gets. Easily overwhelmed, her emotions a tsunami threatening to overtake and drown her at every turn.
That's why she reaches to take his hand. She needs physical contact to ground herself. She'd constantly sought it out from John, and he'd always reciprocated, but she can't receive it from the Fog God, and the lack leaves a hole in her. Her allies are the only ones who can provide her with positive touch.]
Thank fuck you're still here.