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Post by Wayland on Feb 24, 2022 16:23:03 GMT -8
After considering her conversation with Gavin for a moment, Wayland has to admit, he has a point. So she dials up Sweeney , who in her phone is listed with the emojis for biohazard, gun, and a smoking cigarette. |
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Post by Sweeney on Feb 24, 2022 17:37:45 GMT -8
Wayland's phone flashed as the Elemental jumped straight to a phone call.
Sweeney hated texting.
"Yeah, cher. Like I said if you got clean hands — like, you haven't killed people with regret or- or hold guilt to stir up the bad shit. Sorry, I'm not the occultist in Ricochet," he clarified — Fawkes was better at articulating this sort of thing. "Gotta have your mind all zen and shit so the darkness doesn't bother you. But you're like a top tier amazing blacksmith who wants to give people free armour and protect the community, so, like, I'm not sure why the Concord would mess with you."
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Post by Wayland on Feb 24, 2022 21:40:58 GMT -8
Wayland is one of those newfangled millenials. Loves to text, hates to call. When her phone starts ringing and Sweeney's emojis show up, for half a second she wonders if she did something wrong. After all, you only ever have to call when things are bad, right?
Well... things are bad. Though Sweeney doesn't seem to think so.
There's a beat goes by when she listens to Sweeney describe her. Maybe she should be flattered, but instead her stomach drops. The weight of all her lies, everything she's concealing, creating a plummeting feeling at her center. After that beat of silence, somehow, she can't help herself but ask, voice pitched low with sorrow and edged with incredulity, "... Is that really what you think?"
She knows it's the wrong thing to say the moment she says it. It just popped out.
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Post by Sweeney on Feb 25, 2022 18:34:24 GMT -8
"Oh, are you like, one of those people who get twisted up with compliments?" Sweeney chuckled, "Okay, you are terrible and I wouldn't trust you to hammer a nail."
There was a stretch before the Torrent snorted again, "Anyway, if you're worried there's no pressure. I don't think anyone's completely 'pure of heart', but I figure one can handle a weird curse or two."
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Post by Wayland on Feb 25, 2022 22:48:14 GMT -8
Wayland raises her free hand to pinch her brow, grimacing in anxiety and confusion. “You-” she lets out a huff of breath, “You’re getting me mixed up here.”
She takes another breath, quick and harsh, “Look, my hands aren’t clean.” Sweeney can’t see it but her free hand makes a small chopping motion. This is a weird way to make a confession, however vague. “I’ve got guilt, I’ve got shit I regret. Now, none of that is related to the old civil war...”
She pauses, then asks, “Would that be a problem for me on this job?” shaping each word with quick but blocky diction, as if that will elicit a more clear and simple response.
If her emotional state is going to be a liability, maybe she’s not the right person for this.
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Post by Sweeney on Feb 25, 2022 23:00:43 GMT -8
"'Course not. You're a Summer. But there's like, a scale, you know? ...Hah- I sure don't." The Torrent didn't seem phased that the Ogre was acting like and Ogre, or maybe he really was just as 'off' as he had described at Samhain.
"Problems...? You're always gonna have problems as a Lost. If you got too much anxiety, I don't know what to tell you other than no one's asking you to open that door, cher. No one's gonna be mad with you, or expecting anything. Didn't you, like, bodyguard a bunch of socialites to deal with the Goblin King? And helped my motleymate out with that hospice." Fawkes apparently had left out the concussion Lucas had caused. "You don't owe anyone nothing."
The Season fed itself on challenges and competition, and an officer of the Iron Spear wasn't going to see a few dangers as something to shrink from.
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Post by Wayland on Feb 25, 2022 23:25:56 GMT -8
The muscles in Wayland’s neck strain as she clenches her jaw. She sucks in a hissing breath. “I wasn’t looking for an out.” What’s that in her voice? Offense? Hurt? Guilt? Irritation? Some combination of all that and more? “I asked a direct question, I just wanted a direct answer.” She deserves to know if she’s exposing herself, and the people whom she’s asking to join her, to danger.
“Whatever. You gave it to me. It’s mine. I’ll deal with it.”
She swipes to end the call.
Going to Sweeney for help is a mistake she’s going to remember.
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Post by Sweeney on Feb 26, 2022 10:07:47 GMT -8
The Arrayer blinked as he was hung up on. He wasn't the fastest typer with his mien, and wasn't looking to harass the Maker, but he didn't feel confident in leaving her with the bare minimum of his own limited knowledge.
It would take five minutes for him to hen-peck out his final message. The auto correct swapped out some mistakes without the Blightbent noticing the difference.
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