#rabbitheartedgxrl

It took Nick Valentine a few moments to adjust to the question: not that he didn't know what it was in reference to as much as he hadn't expected her to ask at all. It had only been about two days since Serena had sprung him from that Vault.

Maybe the old detective was still acting a little jittery.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and went silent for a few moments before he figured out how to answer. "Pretty alright, all things considered. Still re-adjusting my visual processors to sunlight... if I see another tommy gun it'll be too soon."

He gave a derisive sniff of air he didn't need as he tilted his chin up to the sky; he'd taken a little walk from where they'd been working in his office. One of very many, lately. "Maybe I'm not too keen on being indoors for a little while."

“Wicker!”

She’s turned the girl’s name into an admonishment. She meant it to be a warning. Because she knows. She knows that when ‘everyone knows that I am fucked up’, the one who knows most of all is the ‘I’. And, the ‘I’ is powerful. The ‘I’ can take what it ‘knows’ and transform that into its Truth.

Seras knows. Seras remembers, and those memories are what startled her into that regrettable harshness. ‘Everyone knows that I am fucked up’ becoming the bedrock of Wicker’s ‘I’ … that terrifies her.

“Wicker…” she says again, gentler than before. Wicker’s name in her mouth is now an apology. She can’t think what to say next, but that’s fine. Sometimes words are just wasted breath.

// You. Are. Talented.

You’ve created something special with Wicker. She is so lively and poignant and multifaceted. I smile when I see her on my dash. In writing. In drawing. Whatever medium you lay your hands on. She’s a joy. And, you dreamed her up.

And, you’re kind. Really kind. You listen, and you encourage. You did both those things for me when I needed them badly. You are a big part of why I am still on this blog, on this site. Thank you.

You’re someone who gives a lot, IC and OOC.

Clark had stepped right into a bear trap, the metal teeth dug into his dense flesh, puncturing his right calf. Blood had already caked his fur and stuck his hair to the wound like a fast acting paste. With a temporary bum leg, Clark had to hobble on his fours more troubled than usual.

;;ooc