Cock of the Walk

I’m not really here I just came to commission some art for a project I’m working on and I guess I must have popped in the recommended feed. I would love to RP but this project is 2/3 of the way finished and I know I’m incapable of moderation. If I try RPing right now that’s as far as it’ll ever go. Maybe when it’s done??? We just don’t know. 

k?

The response was still cutting out occasionally, but the gist of it was clear enough. An affirmative.

    “– Ch-zz-ngl-zzz-g-” Fuck, was that Changeling? She couldn’t think of any other agents that could sound so similar, but considering the ringing in her ears and the feedback produced by the static against her implants only made her worry more. “Whisper-” that was clearer, thank god. “zzzz Clear to t-zz-k?” That was enough. 

    She fought a grin as she answered,  “If you’re clear, I’m clear. Bad signal, but if you can get me to wherever you are, it should clear up.” 

More static. More screeching. “...get me to....you are.”

R9 makes a nervous, fluttering motion with her hands, takes a seat and then leaps up again to resume her pacing beside him. She hasn’t spoken much since their run-in with the courser, but a rush of mumbled curses trickles out of her now, like a punctured waterbed. Owen supposes he should attempt to reassure her, but apparently he’s terrible at it. Who knew that ‘don’t worry, we’ll likely die of dehydration before the courser beats down the door’ would inspire such horror? No. Better to focus on the rescue, deal with the trauma later.

         “Ahh, I see.” A joke, one that Amell took great pleasure in making on a frequent basis, usually in hopes of flustering unsuspecting people. Owen, of course, wasn’t one of those people. It didn’t stop her from making the comment though, complete with a crooked smile.

        “Well, you would not be the first person curious about how I do this. Alistair was convinced that I had been lying about my sight for a good week before he eventually discovered he was wrong.” How Alistair discovered his mistake was quite embarrassing, on his part at least, but Euphemia had no problem sharing that story if Owen, or anyone else, pushed.

        “You needn’t apologise, however. It is nice to have company.” Her smile became warm. “To sate your curiosity though, I am not really reading, per say. I am using my connection to the fade to absorb the knowledge. While I cannot see what the words or pictures look like, I know what they mean.”

Curse Euphemia Amell and her lovely, infectious, delightfully easy smile. She’s caught him off guard again — she’s been doing that a lot lately and with too little effort. He wonders if she can see the answer of a grin in his 'colors and shapes,’ or if she knows that his groan of protest conceals a genuine chuckle. Knowing her, she can probably hear it. Curse her twice. 

“Terrible.” He irons the smile out from all but his eyes, but his voice is too warm to sound even slightly reproachful. “Where’s a Fade demon when you need one? I’d make any deal to purge that joke from my memory.” 

And just when he’s finally managed to tame his mirth, she finds a new way to disarm him. "You ‘absorb the knowledge.’" he repeats, wondering. But there’s no way he can turn that sentence in his mind to make it logically consistent; either she’s said utter nonsense or she’s said something beyond extraordinary. It wouldn’t be the first time, either way. 

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