Gideon's fingers catch momentarily on the flowing sleeve of her robe, and Harrow only just keeps from flinching away. She follows her into the building, a place in far better condition than anywhere she's seen before; there's no crumbling walls or hazardous floors here, nor the uncanny preservation of a place like the Mithraeum. What disrepair there is simply makes it seem habited.
As they step into the elevator, Harrow tenses. It's as much from the smallness of the space inside as the fact Gideon chooses now to become annoyingly observant. "Damage of that scale should have taken...effort," she says, tasting the lie at the back of each word, the hint of everything unsaid. "I had a fucking sword through my gut, Nav."
Saying her name brings up another clot of stuff, coppery and thick at the back of her throat. She swallows it back down.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2021-05-19 08:36 pm (UTC)As they step into the elevator, Harrow tenses. It's as much from the smallness of the space inside as the fact Gideon chooses now to become annoyingly observant. "Damage of that scale should have taken...effort," she says, tasting the lie at the back of each word, the hint of everything unsaid. "I had a fucking sword through my gut, Nav."
Saying her name brings up another clot of stuff, coppery and thick at the back of her throat. She swallows it back down.