[he's speaking again. it registers that he's asking her a question - takes a long moment for that to happen, too.
Yup. It happens to all of---
[does she want to include silco in this? in the idea of "us"? no. he's become something else to her - some of it justified, surely, and some of it overarching and incorrect. is there blame to be placed on his shoulders? yes, but its easy to pile on more than he deserves. to think she knows what he deserves. to think she knows everything when she only knows some.
but. it's technically true. and he was also from the undercity - he fucking was the undercity that she returned to after her imprisonment, and responsible for every shitty thing about it that she couldn't blame piltover for. (when she digs, she even blames piltover for him. but she's not digging today.)]
---all of us.
[her stomach's in knots as they trek the planks - she fights the impulse to turn and strike more than once, despite knowing it wouldn't do much good (vander's voice and oh that hurts, that hurts : not worth the trouble it would bring, vi. come on, you can do better.) she stumbles on that one, black boot against beam and a harsh exhale as she rights herself. she fights the urge to run, too, but that one's easier to shrug off - the shame that comes with it - threatening to rain down more memories is swallowed thickly - (you left her) dismissed as she clears her throat.
the wakers, the whole of the boardwalk is much more chill than what she'd found her second time coming through - she skips mentioning that part - how she arrived twice, how she saw her sister, even if barely. there is no reason to make conversation beyond the bare essentials. why was she even doing this? (it's jinx now: well, isn't this something. yeah, why are you doing this, vi?)]
No angry mob this month. Lucky you, I guess.
[she will. shoulder a path through and toward a huddle of other wakers now - not ungently - but they will move for her. one of them, a child in a bright orangeish shirt, waves at her, unseen as she passes by.]
no subject
Yup. It happens to all of---
[does she want to include silco in this? in the idea of "us"? no. he's become something else to her - some of it justified, surely, and some of it overarching and incorrect. is there blame to be placed on his shoulders? yes, but its easy to pile on more than he deserves. to think she knows what he deserves. to think she knows everything when she only knows some.
but. it's technically true. and he was also from the undercity - he fucking was the undercity that she returned to after her imprisonment, and responsible for every shitty thing about it that she couldn't blame piltover for. (when she digs, she even blames piltover for him. but she's not digging today.)]
---all of us.
[her stomach's in knots as they trek the planks - she fights the impulse to turn and strike more than once, despite knowing it wouldn't do much good (vander's voice and oh that hurts, that hurts : not worth the trouble it would bring, vi. come on, you can do better.) she stumbles on that one, black boot against beam and a harsh exhale as she rights herself. she fights the urge to run, too, but that one's easier to shrug off - the shame that comes with it - threatening to rain down more memories is swallowed thickly - (you left her) dismissed as she clears her throat.
the wakers, the whole of the boardwalk is much more chill than what she'd found her second time coming through - she skips mentioning that part - how she arrived twice, how she saw her sister, even if barely. there is no reason to make conversation beyond the bare essentials. why was she even doing this? (it's jinx now: well, isn't this something. yeah, why are you doing this, vi?)]
No angry mob this month. Lucky you, I guess.
[she will. shoulder a path through and toward a huddle of other wakers now - not ungently - but they will move for her. one of them, a child in a bright orangeish shirt, waves at her, unseen as she passes by.]