[ It's a handful of hours later when she replies. Enough time for the day to have fled; a warm and cloudy night taking its place, the sort where many Panorama citizens long to stir up trouble. ]
Back.
[ A moment or two later, he'll also receive an image file attachment. On it, a somewhat degraded picture of one of the nicer storefronts she's seen: Ink Tank, with a blue neon sign in the window and walk-ins welcome! painted on the glass in stylised lettering. It's been a bit since she's brought this up, and there always seems to be something else more important, but. It hasn't really left her head. It lingers, an itch that won't really be scratched away. And this one seems... safer, warmer. Cleaner, too. ]
Friday?
[ Of course, it won't happen as planned, if planned. By Friday, they'll be ankle deep in not-water and dreams. ]
[ And there's almost a reply, too: words she's turned over, again and again, trying to mould them into — something, anything. The cut wires between her brain and her vocal cords have infected her fingers, her texts, with the same malignancy. The same feebleness, like a coating of static. Mute, muter.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Back.
[ A moment or two later, he'll also receive an image file attachment. On it, a somewhat degraded picture of one of the nicer storefronts she's seen: Ink Tank, with a blue neon sign in the window and walk-ins welcome! painted on the glass in stylised lettering. It's been a bit since she's brought this up, and there always seems to be something else more important, but. It hasn't really left her head. It lingers, an itch that won't really be scratched away. And this one seems... safer, warmer. Cleaner, too. ]
Friday?
[ Of course, it won't happen as planned, if planned. By Friday, they'll be ankle deep in not-water and dreams. ]
no subject
[ Yes, he'll be there. Feels right, somehow, that she's not alone for it. ]
no subject
In the end, she leaves it there. ]