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[deadelfwalking]

 

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"Leave a message, if you must."

image from obliterating <3

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[totallytrustworthy]

oi sunshine hows it going out in the wild

[deadelfwalking]

it is fine
wht do you need

[totallytrustworthy]

doing just lovely thanks for asking

those tattoos of yours do they have to be headlights

[deadelfwalking]

oh good glad oure ok

oowhat does that mean

[totallytrustworthy]

can you make them not glow in the bloody dark darling

or the not dark :)

[deadelfwalking]

[this response is delayed by about two hours.]


if that is wht iyou wish

[totallytrustworthy]

something wrong darling?

[deadelfwalking]

anumbr ofr things
not easily writtn

[totallytrustworthy]

I could trek over. snows not bad

[deadelfwalking]

[He considers this. At present, he's in check -- he's anchored, mainly, by the course of Martin's daily needs. The boy must be fed; must be instructed; must be kept warm. These necessities keep Koltira focused. For now.]

if you like.

[totallytrustworthy]

[The trip over's not easy or quick; she makes it because he's her mate and one that's done more than his share to look out for her. It goes without saying that she'd do the same.

So, up to nearly her knees in snow, Chloe kicks at the entrance to where he's holed up. ]

[deadelfwalking]

[The place isn't nearly so nice as his last one; it's half-skeletal and only a little more than a simple lean-to at present, with the most finished space being reserved for Martin's use. Koltira's sitting on the ground; he reaches one arm up to open the rough-hewn door. Everything of the place has been cobbled together from bits and pieces of old Exsilium.]

I am sorry. I don't have much to offer you.

[totallytrustworthy]

Cozy. [Typical Chloe humor, though she says it mildly when she ducks in through the rickety looking door. Shakes the snow from her boots a step or two in to keep from tracking it about. ] Fortunately enough for us both I don't happen to need anything.

But you do: what's going on?

[deadelfwalking]

[No worries, Chloe; the wooden floor is sanded and polished, but it's not the nicest stock in the first place. Towards the back -- Martin's space, a separate room entirely, and closed off -- there's a tiny hearth. He drags himself up to start a fire; avoids eye contact.]

Bariyan has returned, but he is not the man I knew. Seviilia does not listen to my commands.

And Ashraf told me --

[It's so absurd. He purses his lips. Mutters.]

He told me that he loved me.

[totallytrustworthy]

[She almost chokes out a noise at that. Uh. What. ]

You're joking.

He's joking.

--right?

[deadelfwalking]

No. He was not. But.

[Koltira stokes the fire, scowling.]

He loves someone else, as well.

[totallytrustworthy]

[He's not joking, then. Chloe's brow furrows. ]

And did anyone tell him that's not really how romance works?

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira sneers at the little flame.]

Oh, he's well aware. Awash in guilt. But what use is that to me?

[totallytrustworthy]

[Guilt. If ever there was a self serving emotion in matters of the heart, it's guilt; Chloe's lost count of how many times guilt has only ever made the indecisive even less responsible than they otherwise would be.]

None. And if I were you I'd tell him to fuck right off.

[deadelfwalking]

[Koltira's too fired-up thinking about the situation to even register that remark. He keeps stoking the fire -- with much more violence than necessary -- and hisses.]

He is in love with that spitting child of a ... a lawyer.

[He doesn't say it like a foreign word; there are equivalents in Azeroth. It's more incredulity that someone so fucking illogical and stupid could have the job in the first place.]

[totallytrustworthy]

...Sonya?

[deadelfwalking]

[he grinds his teeth, spitting the name as though referring to some species of intrusive vermin.]

Yes. Ms. Karimov. She is a cruel, vile snake of a woman.

[totallytrustworthy]

Ah....[Cue one quizzical little stare as she tries to match up the description with the name. One of these things is not like the other; one of these things just doesn't belong.]

Starting to think you might know a different Sonya, here.

[deadelfwalking]

[He gestures to his tablet, sitting on a half of a table in the front room. Walking over, he pages to the appropriate threads--both from his post, and from his own messages.]

See for yourself.

[totallytrustworthy]

Oh Christ. [She pinches her brow once she's done-- once the reality of it seeps in.] Tell you what I'll do us all a favor and send out a mass transport memo to stop the teenage romantics.

[Seriously, though:] You okay...?