roberta tends to lead, inconveniently, with her mouth. it slows her processing to a near standstill  ---  she drags herself through the thick distraction of her own words like boots through mud, arrives at every realization late and with plenty backpedaling to do.

it’s moments like these, forcing human reaction, that remind her how far from human she really is. the roll of a chill up her spine. the climbing anxiety. nausea, prickling sweat, teeth fighting to chatter.

         ‘ i thought i recognized... ’

she’s come around to the front of him, now, and takes each observation like a punch to the gut. visible injuries aside, something feels very different. something is very wrong.

my baby, she thinks, her heart already breaking. what have they done to my baby.

         ‘ loki. ’ a pet name discarded is just about as close as bertie can come to uttering the words, ‘i’m afraid.’ ‘ what happened? ’

  --- okay, maybe, maybe Matt was mistaken and the nagging familiarity of the voice is his imagination, but the guy is lying outright about his name, and he clearly just faked an accent, so ---

MEMBER

ok i was debating on whether or not to include that because i actually don’t mind that as much as others, because it is still at least somewhat clear as to what it’s referring to when you read it within the context.

bertie’s never said there aren’t benefits to living in a liminal space. that time touches nothing has proved useful: she’s seen this kid from knee height and proper to shifty and a foot and a half nearer the stratosphere than she is, all without aging a day. it’s given her the gift of superiority through loki’s less sensible phases.

         ‘ what’s this. ’ she flicks her fingers at his person, once down and up and down again. ‘ what’s happening here. ’