(no subject)

[fishy_go_byebye]

[The message to evacuate had somehow gotten lost between a tumble out of the dryer and a visit in the lobby with dancing chalk.

That was okay. Evacuations made her her itch and her skin run away. It was better, to just try and avoid the fast and quite.]

...don't like that gunk, not really grape... ape ate ace face facilitatory ish ed mmm...

...bring back some of the rocks. Not from those caves, though, the sand is slimy...

[Her journal is being toted around by one cover, and occasionally the sounds of her muttering waft quiet words onto the pages.]

Comments

[fishy_go_byebye]

Why?

[There's flopping as the book bounces against her leg.]

[workaphilic]

Because the alternative is wandering the castle like you, and I think I've already made my opinion on that abundantly clear.

[That's not even close to the real reason, but he's not good at these feeling things.]

[fishy_go_byebye]

[A hum of acknowledgement followed by a long silence except for the flop flop flopping of her journal.]

[workaphilic]

Figured out a destination yet?

[fishy_go_byebye]

[The flop flop from the book continues, but when she answers her voice comes twice - once from the book and once from the hallway near him.]

The labyrinth isn't allowed?

[workaphilic]

[Oh. Good. (Unexpected pang of relief.)]

Not today, no.

[fishy_go_byebye]

[The shuffling is slow and lazy. It takes her a while to follow the meandering strong of a path that brought her closer.

But, finally, she stops to stare at the mural spread across one wall.]

There aren't any zombies. Not that there were any. I think. Or not they way they should be it wasn't their fault.

[workaphilic]

[He shuts his journal.]

They're comatose. Poisoned.

[It seems like a relevant thing to say. He doesn't know what a zombie is.]

[fishy_go_byebye]

Oh? [She wanders along the wall, hand trailing over the scene.

But, hey. There's one of her favorites. She'll just stop wandering now, and settle down next to him.]

Oh. Dreaming when there was no Dream.

[workaphilic]

[He's calmer now. The last thing he needs is someone else to fret embarrassingly over.]

Yes. Not very pleasant, obviously.

[fishy_go_byebye]

Is it?

[Her hand scratches over the floor near his foot.]

There could be streamers add. Those flowy ones tat sparkle and crackle and catch on fire.

[workaphilic]

Could be. Still, I think they'd much prefer not to be comatose.

[fishy_go_byebye]

[A shrug. Just another one of those things that will pass.]

Can we go to the embassy?

[workaphilic]

No.

[Well. That's that, then.]

[fishy_go_byebye]

Mm...

[A pouty face as her head thunks back against the wall.]

[workaphilic]

You'll survive somehow, I imagine.

[fishy_go_byebye]

Don't run to the caves.

[workaphilic]

I don't plan on it. Do you?

[fishy_go_byebye]

I don't like them. [She burrows a bit into her forearms and leaves it like that.]

[workaphilic]

[He just watches her for a second, quietly.]

Can't say I disagree with you.

[fishy_go_byebye]

[Good. She hates it when people disagree with her. She'll even be kind enough not to tilt so she leans against him.

Her word is muffled.]

Good.

[workaphilic]

[He goes silent for a while, steepling his fingers under his chin and staring into space. Thinking.

Then, lightly, like it just occurred to him:]

I realize that you aren't accustomed to or fond of staying in one place, but it's necessary right now. I can't be monitoring you constantly.

[fishy_go_byebye]

[She doesn't say anything. Worry or not, she'll go where she will. He probably knows that, and she could promise - and really truly mean to keep it - but it wouldn't change the facts.]

They told me it's rude to lie.

[workaphilic]

[A pause. Yes, alright.]

Get someone who does have the time to monitor you constantly, then.

[fishy_go_byebye]

Barnabas couldn't come along.

[A little sigh. And then she adds on sulkily.]

...Don't need a keeper.