In the Blink of an Eye

Oh, hi! Name's Prilla. Not to be confused with Priscilla which is the grossest name in the history of ever. Anyways, hello! Nice to meet- hey, whatcha doin' there? Can you teach me?~*Proud member of WTSC RPG*~

[tophernottmorr]

Silence Isn't Golden || Topher and Prilla

[tophernottmorr]

Topher’s head bobbed once, the closest he’d get to a nod, at her first question, just barely shaking his head at the second, before repeating his first motion at the last inquiry. It was very new. As in a few days old, if even that. He didn’t have his phone. or a calendar, and he didn’t remember what day he’d written when he signed out of the hospital. Needless to say it was brand new, and he didn’t know any way of working around it.

[clapforfairies]

Can't talk, doesn't sign. New development. "Oh." she whispered. "Would you... like to? Sign, I mean?

" Maybe it was a stupid question. He didn't really want to interact with people, from what she could tell. But Prilla's open and loving heart couldn't help but reach out to him, knowing that he was hurting. 

That was something that she didn't have to ask, for she could see it clearly in his face. And she couldn't stop herself from at least offering help. Even if he didn't accept, the hand would be there. That's just the way that she was.

[clapforfairies]

The Lonely || Prilla and Diana

[nevra-erdogan-deactivated202107]

"Yeah," She said with a shrug and a smile. "Clearly something is wrong and ice cream solves every problem." She giggled slightly. "At least for a little while and sugar is sure to show you that there are good things in the world." She offered her hand to the girl. 

[clapforfairies]

Prilla took it. "Hey... thanks!" she replied, the corners of her mouth doing a teeny tiny little upturn. "Where're we goin' though?"

Okay, so maybe Ice Cream wouldn't fix absolutely everything, but sher could definitely give it a go. It was probably better than moping.

[clapforfairies]

Are We Out of the Woods? || Post Quake || Prilla and Sinclair

[officer-sinclair]

“You think correctly,” Sinclair admits without pause, a bit unnerved by the tears that were springing up in the girl’s eyes. The officer searches her brain for the girl’s name, sure that she asked, but unsure if she ever received an answer. Everything about the last couple hours was fuzzy and the hospital’s fluorescent lighting was doing nothing for her stubborn headache.

Sinclair caught a glance of her reflection in the glass separating the waiting room from the hospital entrance. There were dark circles around her eyes and she looked pale, sickly pale. There was dried blood on the side of her temple; a layer of dust from the ballroom rubble on her clothing and in her hair. No wonder Graham sent her to the hospital. No wonder this girl was worried about her. Sinclair was sure that she would probably benefit more from a warm shower than waiting around for help that was bound to never come.

Finishing up the sling splint, Sinclair stood back up, ignoring the way everything in the room was overwhelmingly bright for a few moments as her body adjusted to the position change. “Don’t worry though, I’m tough. An earthquake has nothing on war.” The words came out of her freely, and immediately Sinclair was astounded as to why she said it aloud. She had never been in a war. 

[clapforfairies]

Prilla gasped as the splint was finished, her other hand cradling her arm. "Ow." she whispered. It hurt. Just that final movement. But then she smiled at her savior, putting on a brave face like the officer had. "Thank you."

Her brow crinkled a moment later. "You've been in war? I'm sorry, that must have been really hard." then the smile widened, though her eyes were intently focused on Sinclair's posture, worried that she would fall or something. "But I'm glad I have someone like you with me. I can't be scared."

[clapforfairies]

Are We Out of the Woods? || Post Quake || Prilla and Sinclair

[officer-sinclair]

“Am I okay?” Sinclair repeated the question incredulously, as if it were some strange, outlandish inquiry. In a way, it was. “I am a police officer, of course I’m okay.” Sinclair spoke through her scattered thoughts; a fruitless attempt to remember the last time that someone afforded her the question, the last time someone was concerned enough to even ask it. There was only one person that came to mind: Aisa Fayte. And yet, despite the judge’s concern, or maybe just curiosity, about what haunted her nightmares, there still had not been anything close to that direct question.

Sinclair was always okay. She was better than okay. And she never gave those around her the chance to think otherwise. But for some reason, this young girl’s question resonated inside of her and kicked her deep in the gut. Because maybe… she was not okay…

“Let’s get you all fixed up,” Sinclair pushed that possibility out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand, ignoring anything else. It was the only way that she knew how to be okay. 

[clapforfairies]

Prilla frowned, even in her dazed state finding something wrong with that answer. "But you can be a poh-lice and still have a headache, I think. And um... you have a head... thing." the brunette pointed to the obvious injury on Sinclair's brow.

"But, um... okay." Prilla frowned, for all the world looking like a pouting child as they continued their work. The sling was almost finished, which meant that theoretically the pain would abate soon. "I still think your head hurts." she informed her companion.

But then she remembered why they were doing this in the first place, horrible images from her imagination taunting her with her friends... no, her family's broken bodies. They needed to find them. But Prilla was wobbly and useless, and the Officer was hurt too. That bothered her.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She didn't care to figure out whether the pain that caused them was emotional or physical.

[clapforfairies]

The Lonely || Prilla and Sanford

[sanfordmann]

Prilla might have been the picture of sadness, with tears and distraught wrought across her face, but Sanford understood. He understood that sometimes, in the mess of things, with your heart emptying itself of worries and grief, there was a moment where you truly found peace. Deviation from happiness could be cathartic – at least if there was someone to work through it with. It was one of the reasons that Sanford stuck around.

There were times when Sanford found himself in a similar situation. But, with no one to talk to and his friends busy with their own tragedies, he found himself alone in that situation. Lonely.

Lonely. The word rang in Sanford’s head as the girl on the bench with him spoke aloud. He was lonely a lot. It didn’t matter if he deserved it or not, he was. But, silence was a friend that never betrayed.

I – Sanford pointed to himself, wondering if he should lie, focus on Prilla. But, if he could finally talk to someone, without actually talking, what did it mean if he chose to use his precious few words in deception. I am lonely a lot. But, I am not lonely now. With you. You make me happy too. 

[clapforfairies]

Prilla's breath caught. I... am glad. She met his eyes, and while hers were still damp from crying, they were filled with warmth. Warmth that he'd brought with him and shared with her. I don't want you to feel lonely anymore. 

When you need to talk... "I'll listen," she whispered. I'm not much, but I won't ever... B-E-T-R-A-Y your trust. She fingerspelled the one word that she couldn't call to mind, a little nervous to be so honest, and so... raw, out loud. Something about her promise made her feel vulnerable, even though she was the one that was promising integrity. 

Wanting to say more, but not knowing what or how, Prilla's hands stilled. But her smile remained, stronger now. To think that such a short time ago, she couldn't force a smile if she tried.

[theborderatsunset-deactivated20]

Ever So Sorry || Quinn & Prilla

[theborderatsunset-deactivated20]

"Yes, she is extremely protective of those games" she said not really understanding the woman’s obsession with ‘video games’. Though Quinn had never played one.

"Cupcakes sound wonderful" she chuckled as the girl looped her arm in through her’s. "That might be good idea, you don’t want to get caught in her paint rage"

[clapforfairies]

"I heard that once, Bobbly accidentally scratched her disk, and she walloped him so hard that he saw stars." Prilla giggled at the mental picture. Man, Chels was awesome. But scary when it came to her electronics.

Her smile only widened when she thought of Bria's Paint Rage, and she continued speaking. "I figure a peace offering is always best when dealing with Painter's Block. And you could take one home for Treven! Or two, for Treven and Sally. Speaking of, have they made out yet?" Prilla spoke of this with an air of nonchalance, as if it was an eventuality that her friends had just not gotten around to yet (which really, it was). It was a topic that the rest of the "Hollow" kept tabs on, as absolutely everyone had some interest or investment in them finally getting together. It may have been a huge overstep of social boundaries, but none of them really cared.

[tophernottmorr]

Silence Isn't Golden || Topher and Prilla

[tophernottmorr]

Topher stood, in silence, as the girl asked him questions, not bothering to answer until she apologized for questioning him. And all he could do then was shrug. Lifting his hand, he put it up to his throat, mouthing words, before shrugging, hoping that it got the message that he couldn’t speak across to her.

He was tired, emotionally drained. He just wanted to get home. Topher had no idea why he was still standing there.

[clapforfairies]

Prilla's eyes widened in understanding. "You.. you can't talk?" she clarified, working off of his pantomime and being forcibly reminded of Sanford, one of her newest (but already very dear) friends.

"Do you sign, or...?" she lifted her hands and shaped her words, hoping he could communicate that way. "Is this a new thing?" she added to her questions.

[tophernottmorr]

Silence Isn't Golden || Topher and Prilla

[tophernottmorr]

Topher fully expected her to walk away, especially at his silence. His fingers ran over the curve of the pick, over and over again, a new nervous tick, as he waited for her to do something. Go away, or maybe not. But just standing there and looking at him wasn’t very comfortable.

He was almost taken aback when she introduced herself, and raised his free hand just a fraction in acknowledgement. He couldn’t say his name. Couldn’t say anything at all, really. So knowing her name would have to be good enough for the both of them. He didn’t even have a piece of paper to scribble it on. Wonderful way to meet someone…

But he could nod at her question. Yes, he did play guitar. And bass. And drums. Keys. Pretty much any instrument, and if he didn’t know how to, he could learn it. Music was what he did. Though singing seemed beyond his abilities now. Which cut out most of his rock… He fidgeted slightly, finger tracing over the pick more roughly as she continued to look at him, something disturbingly like pity in her gaze. He wanted to walk away. Or punch her. And had he had a voice, he probably would have had the resolution to do so. But without it he couldn’t do anything, not even muster up the energy to frustratedly walk away. He was being pitied. Again. He’d spent so much time trying to get people to stop with that. But here he was. Back to square one.

[clapforfairies]

"What's the matter?" Prilla peered at him, head tilted. She wasn't really one to beat around the bush, wasting time with the "are you okay's" or the "how are you's" when she could tell what the honest answer to those questions were with her own two eyes.

She wasn't anything but curious, and maybe a little sad. She knew how it felt to be lost. 

Then, finally, the young woman realized how pushy her question may have come across, and backpedaled. "I'm sorry, that was probably nosy. I just... you seem sad." she finished simply. "I'd like to help, if I can."

[theborderatsunset-deactivated20]

Ever So Sorry || Quinn & Prilla

[theborderatsunset-deactivated20]

"I’m not sure about magic, but thank you dear" she smiled at the girl who she had known since she was young. "Yes, isn’t the saying ‘try, try, try again. And I’m sure those video games will be fun"

"I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, and you aren’t keeping me. If you want to do something we can do anything you want"

[clapforfairies]

"Oh, yeah. Except I'll probably have to swear on her DS that I will be so careful, because you know how she is about her electronics."

Prilla beamed, hooking her arm even more firmly into Ms. Quinn's. "Awesome! Want some cupcakes? I was thinking of picking one up for Bria, so maybe she'll let her within twenty feet without chucking a brush at my head." And maybe one for Beck, since she's coming over later. And one for Brooke, because of reasons.

[clapforfairies]

The Lonely || Prilla and Diana

[nevra-erdogan-deactivated202107]

Diana nodded. “You sure? I mean…” She paused, thinking. Clearly she wasn’t fine. Diana had to cheer her up. She glanced around the area looking for ideas, her eyes landed on a brightly lit shop across the way. “Do you know what always helps? Ice cream.” She smiled. “I’ll pay.” The redhead rose to her feet. “Come on.” She offered her a reassuring smile.

[clapforfairies]

"W-what?" Prilla's head perked up from its position on her knees, both from surprise and triggered by the magic words: Ice cream. She wasn't smiling, but there was definitely some interest there that had not been present previously. 

"You mean it?" she clarified, dubious. Not to look a gift-horse in the mouth or anything...

[clapforfairies]

The Lonely || Prilla and Sanford

[sanfordmann]

No one fits, Sanford emphasized, and empathized, with Prilla’s words, his fingers interlacing together to form the word that was seemingly lacking from the girl’s vocabulary. In his thirty-five years of life, he still had not found his place in the world. He went from a loud, joyful man, who bounced from place to place, putting his wit, intellect, and imagination to work into a silent, introspective man who worked with his hands – both in conversation and occupation. He still felt out of place the world, as if he belonged somewhere else, doing something else.

It saddened Sanford deeply that such an intelligent and delightful girl had such self-doubt. Insecurity was the silent, faceless killer of dreams. I – he began, pointing to himself, still unused to speaking so much – I am all alone, for the most part. I have no family, few friendships, the brunet hooked his fingers together. You have to find something that makes you happy. Anything. You don’t have to be good at it, it doesn’t have to be worth anything to anyone else. Just you. Sanford pointed to Pilla, hoping that his signing was not too fast for her to follow. His words were reminiscent of a time when he still spoke aloud, debating and conversing greatly. Find a place inside where there is joy, and the joy will burn away the pain.

And if you want to feel less alone, find me, Sanford smiled sadly, moving his hand away from his body to rest on Prilla’s arm, an attempt at reassurance and friendliness. You don’t have to be happy with me, just be.

[clapforfairies]

She sobbed at his reply, heavy wracking sounds that tore from her chest even as she was transfixed by the things that were being shared with her. Sanderson was speaking directly from the heart. She could tell. And what a conundrum that presented, a man who spoke volumes without saying a single word, and who wore his heart on his sleeve without a voice to defend himself if it were to be abused. It made her heart hurt, too.

Especially so when his next sentences registered. How alone he was, it saddened Prilla far beyond the effect of her own plight. He didn't deserve to be alone. He was warm, like Brooke, or Treven. And though she wasn't sensitive to the nuances of people's characters in the way that he was, Prilla could tell enough to know that her new friend deserved to be heard, too.

I can't imagine not feeling happy, with you. she admitted. I am happy now. You made me happy. Though it might have seemed strange to say so with tear tracks still on her cheeks and a mouth that was too exhausted to remember to smile, something inside of her felt lighter, just to know that someone else understood her. That maybe she'd be okay.

Sanford, she carefully formed his sign name, You... "are kind." she whispered that last, though her hands still moved with her voice. "I hope... you aren't lonely." You don't deserve to feel lonely...

[clapforfairies]

Are We Out of the Woods? || Post Quake || Prilla and Sinclair

[officer-sinclair]

“That’s probably for the best,” Sinclair replied, her voice uncharacteristically soft, caring. There was really no explanation for the empathy that the blonde was showing, nor the rich ripples of concern that invaded through her stomach each time she considered the amount of pain that the younger woman must have been experiencing; and no spare doctors to attend to her battle wounds. “Moving it could further damage any injured muscles or nerves.”

Something stirred within the officer – a fragment of one of her reoccurring nightmares, one that felt more like a memory than a dream. The image of a young recruit, his brown uniform splotched with dark crimson. His eyes were haunted as his friends’ ghosts lingered. Sweat beaded, pouring from every pore, Sinclair bit down tightly. “Private, you need to let me wrap your shoulder. Moving it could further damage any injured muscles or nerves,” she spoke firmly, but her own voice was shaky, shadowed by the auxiliary noise, the shaking of the earth as tanks and bombs met face to face. They’d been here for too long. For weeks now. The Argonne Forest was once a beautiful region of France, Sinclair had visited once as a child. But now, the grounds were dyed by the dying soldiers. She carefully extracted the young private’s arm, ripping the bottom of her brown jacket to serve as a makeshift splint; medical supplies were far and few these days. “I have to, I have to go back, I have to get to Berthelot,” the private cried, his fingernails clawing into the trench wall. “We have to take care of you,” Sinclair urged, using a firm hand to hold him in place, in face of his heartbreak.

“We have to take care of you,” Sinclair voiced aloud, the image of the private flickering back to the young girl as the hospital settled around her and the battlefield vanished. The cries of pain and the barked orders from doctor to nurse was still reminiscent of the trenches. The blonde flinched, her eyes shutting for a moment as she attempted to ground herself in the here and now.

Lightly ghosting her fingers over the injured arm presented to her, Sinclair found that the injury was nowhere as urgent as Private Mathias’s was; the man from her dream, not memory. Sure, he felt real. And sure she knew things like he later died due to putting his rifle in his mouth, a note scribbled hastily, addressing her. And sure, she remembered bringing his dog tags back home to his mother, whose despair felt as deeply as her own. But, they were just nightmares.

“Just keep your arm in that position, supporting it with your other arm,” Sinclair guided as she leaned over the girl, placing a triangular bandage across her chest. “What’s your name?” Talking was important, she needed to keep the conversation flowing. 

[clapforfairies]

"O-okay." It already hurt. Man... it hurt really bad. It was a very fine line between swimming in the pain and drowning in it, and Prilla was floating on a wave of shock, in neither country but dangerously close to losing herself anyway. The only thing that was reality was Officer Sinclair, her Blonde Deserter who came back. And she was trying to help.

"'O-offi... okay." The officer was in pain too, she had to be. But Prilla's uptake was too slow, she couldn't catch the look that crossed her face and identify it before it was already gone. So, when a bandage began to be placed around her and the pain brought tears to her eyes, she lifted her good hand and caught Sinclair's wrist for a second.

"Are you... your head... okay?" It was very important for her to know. She shouldn't help if she was really hurt. And though she didn't have any words after that, Prilla squeezed the Officer's wrist to show her concern.

[clapforfairies]

Pixie and a Puppy || Ben and Prilla

It was like an itch. She was sitting at the dinner table just an hour ago, poring over a book borrowed from Bria that illustrated the best use of watercolor pencils when it hit.

And oh, if it wasn't familiar. She'd only had the same feeling hundereds of times in her life, like a living butterfly that beat its wings against the inside of her chest, making her fingers dance and her feet ache to do something. It was the urge that had her move from thing to thing to thing, no matter how much she liked what she was learning. It was the thing that said, No, this isn't right. Try again. Go. be. do something different. Something spontaneous. 

It hurt, too. Like a gypsy of talents, Prilla found herself evicted from one place often just when she started to think that she could call it home.

So it was that she was at the gym this morning, sitting on a bench with no idea what she was doing. Everyone seemed to know what weights to pick up, where to look and what order to do things in. And nearly everyone had headphones in. Prilla knew how bad it was to interrupt someone who was listening to music.

And, after fifteen minutes of watching in silence, the young woman selected someone who seemed to know exactly what they were doing, who had no music plugged into their ears, and looked... oh, she didn't know. Nice, maybe. In a scary sort of way.

"Hello!" she greeted, having flounced the fifteen or so feet to interrupt him as he reached for a different set of weights. "Sorry to disturb you, but that was really cool, the whole, at your feet, then at your chest, then in the air thing! Do ya mind showing me?" 

[clapforfairies]

Sara.  (247 words)

Prilla and Sara met when they were little, just grade schoolers. Prilla remembers playing by herself at Recess and seeing a girl sitting next to a portable, holding a ball in her hands and rocking back and forth. And, logically thinking that since they were both alone, they should play together, little Prilla approached her with her own ball and asked if they could play. The girl looked up, seeming sad, but nodded. So they did.

After a few minutes of rolling balls back and forth, Sara’s ball went straight past Prilla, and rather than just letting it go, the Worrel child rolled backwards on the concrete, first over her shoulder in a backwards summersault, then in a sort of barrel roll to catch it. When she did, she looked back at her companion to see her new friend giggling, with the biggest smile ever. And, though she was just a child, Prilla’s heart grew larger that day.

She later learned that Sara was autistic, and had been by herself because some other kids had told her that they didn’t want to play with her because she was ‘stupid’, and Prilla promised herself and Sara that they’d be friends forever. She has kept that promise even in her early twenties, as she visits her friend’s home at least once a week, where they play with puzzles and stuffed animals. No matter how stressed or lonely Prilla feels, she knows that with Sara she can always find rest.

[clapforfairies]

It was a disaster. (167 words)

Baking. No. No baking. Prilla does many things. She goes through hobbies like other people go through clothes, changing them seasonally and even daily, depending. She tries one thing and then flits to another and another, and sometimes back,  but one thing that she will never return to? Baking. 

The first time she tried it, she was thirteen and jealous of the pies that Ms. Quinn made, so she had gathered all the ingredients that were on the online list for Raisin Bread and combined them all in a bread maker without reading the rest of the directions. It. was. a. disaster.

The worst part? She was home. Ingredients got all over the kitchen, the bread maker was broken, and poor Prilla was at the kitchen table, staring dejectedly at a lump that was supposed to be delicious bread when her parents got home from work.

After they lectured her, Prilla cleaned the whole kitchen and decided that baking just wasn’t really for her. She’s gone everywhere else, but whenever she thinks of baking, even to this day all that she can picture is her parent’s angry faces and that disaster of a kitchen.

[clapforfairies]

Are We Out of the Woods? || Post Quake || Prilla and Sinclair

[officer-sinclair]

“Shee-it,” Sinclair mumbled, her own voice sounding further away than the air between the two of them. This girl, who was seemingly in the hospital alone and distraught, was in pretty rough shape. Shock could do some pretty dangerous things, but distraction was always a good way to help in lieu of actual medical help. Sinclair knew basic first aid, it was part of her training. At least she could keep an eye on the girl incase her health took a nosedive. She hesitated for a moment, sighing aloud once she realized that she should at least attempt to do some good since it would be a while before she received her bill of health.

“Wait here a moment,” the officer ordered, although she was sure that the girl was not headed anywhere anytime soon without assistance. Sinclair stood up, bursting into movement. The action turned the world write and all ambient noises into a shrill ringing that overtook her ears and echoed in her skull. She reached out with a hand, grasping empty air but somehow managing to regain some balance. Her slender form, shadowed with weeks of unrest and alcohol abuse, waivered for a moment as her vision came back into focus. And the incident was pushed aside without consideration as she returned to her earlier determination.

Less than a couple minutes later, the officer returned with a wheelchair, two triangular bandages that would work in splinting the girl’s injured arm, and a dose of pain medicine that she swiped off the distracted nurse. She dry-swallowed the pill, praying that the second line in her head would be chased away.

“So, I’m Officer Sinclair,” the blonde introduced herself, feeling it was necessary in the situation, even though she was out of place in the caregiver role. “Would you like me to splint your arm and then we can have a look around the hospital for Quinn Miles and… uh… everyone?” 

[clapforfairies]

Though Prilla meant to pay attention to where her companion was going, it ended up being more like faint concern at her wobbly beginning that only extended about seven feet away, since that's where her vision got fuzzy. "Wai....t... Okay..." she was leaving. Okay. That's cool too. "I'll be here, I guess. Just... y'know... sitting. Cold. and sitting."

The Blonde Deserter eventually came back, with a wheel chair. That was sorta strange. "What? Oh." Prilla studied the stuff that Officer Sinclair had, who was blonde and a deserter but she apparently came back after deserting, so... maybe a slight turncoat who had good loyalties. but her name was Officer Sinclair. So Prilla should probably call her that.

"Y-you want to... Okay." she said, taking a second to surface from her thoughts and frown. "It's... pretty bad. I mean... I can barely move it. But," she shrugged the blankets away, revealing shoulder and upper arm that were more bruise than skin colored. "Something fell on it. We tried to get it off, but it... it took awhile." Prilla studied the injury for a second, knowing how much moving it would hurt, then turned watery eyes back to Sinclair, jaw set. "I need to find my friends. Go ahead."

[clapforfairies]

The Lonely || Prilla and Sanford

[sanfordmann]

\Woah, Woah, Woah, Sanford signed quickly, flicking his fingers, ensuring that his motions were still visible to the distraught girl, despite her abilities to curl into herself and disappear. The brunet had not expected Prilla to emotionally explode, but that did not mean that he did not want to hear it. There was obviously a reason she was chased out to a park bench at dawn. And there was a reason that Sanford stumbled upon her; a girl that could interact with him on a level that no one else could.

Sanford was not sure exactly what to say in the situation, a common occurrence in his life. Usually this went unnoticed and caused no hindrance since he was used to being unable to communicate with others. But now? Now he had the opportunity to say anything, in any way, and not worry about being misunderstood. He wanted to make sure that he got it exactly right. After all, he stopped speaking because he found silence to say more than words.

Talking, Sanford emphasized with the same distaste that Prilla did earlier, is not always a bad thing. Never be afraid to talk. But, the man paused, crossing his fingers and separating them, pointing in opposite directions and holding them there for a few long moments. Do not be afraid of silence either, nor your sadness. Most people are content to talk and talk, never once thinking about how much talking they do. The fact that you think about this, that it affects you, makes you more intelligent than you can imagine.

A soft smile graced his features, unsure about how he felt. It was the most ‘talking’ he had done in years. Sure, he was not using his vocal cords, but he was still using his ‘voice’. A small part of him felt like if he was going to carry on a conversation in sign, he should just choose to talk. But, a bigger part felt like this meant more, that his words were carefully chosen for someone that really needed to hear them. At least he hoped his words were the right ones.

[clapforfairies]

Though she was very tightly wound, Prilla watched her companion's smoothly gliding fingers intently. He couldn't (or perhaps just didn't) speak out loud, so it would have been the height of rudeness to look away from him while he was signing. She supposed it would be the Deaf equivalent to plugging your ears and humming when someone was speaking to you.

It seemed a struggle for Sanford to speak the way he wished, so Prilla tried a smile to encourage him. And... after several moments of thinking on his words, she disentangled one hand from the mess that was her limbs and brought the thumb to point  towards her chest, then rest under her chin and pull forward. I don't... f-i-t. she fingerspelled the last word, then let her other hand interact with the signs while she remained curled up.

I have big... family? Many friends. But... s-o-m-e-h-o-w I feel... alone. Stupid. I'm not... w-o-r-t-h anything. I smile. But I hurt. She didn't speak this admission out loud, even when she ran out of words, because she was afraid for it to be true if she said it. What if she really was a failure who had no niche? What if she failed at thing after thing because there was really no place for her? What then?