#foirceann

[atrophite]

'how's the weather down there?'

you  know  what  ,  you  know  what  .

[vyalost-arch-blog]

'you seem sad.' an observation, softly spoken in the quiet privacy of the laboratory. moira dares to reach upwards, to permit lithe fingers to slip into blanche's hair & gently tuck the loose, dark strands back behind her ear. her skull tilts almost curiously, but she does not look to the other with the cold indifference of a doctor with a patient. instead, there is a genuine concern reflected behind mismatched eyes. 'if there is something wrong - anything - you can tell me, you understand?'

          THE AMBER OF MOIRA’S VOICE gently reels blanche selivanova back to the surface from her listless tending to melancholy.  the smile she offers hesitates momentarily:  a curl of something albeit sincere while her heart & mind both rush to catch up to the present, where instinctively, she leans in gently to the geneticist’s touch.  it’s only with the soft brush of her cheek against the length of her thumb and the dark brown of her gaze meeting moira’s red & blue own that she registers her words:  that she seems sad.  a soft huff of a laugh is her response;  wearing a poker face has never been a strength of hers.

            but with the hint of the last of sunlight bleeding in slants through the blinds in the laboratory windows, casting vibrant oranges and pink against clean linoleum, she realizes she’s almost forgotten what the sun had felt like;  how young she had been when she’d last walked through a tree-lined street with gaps of sunlight;  what home had felt like, and how much of remembered feeling, in retrospect, felt fabricated.  like a rosy-sheened fiction.  memory was funny that way.  eroding, always.  even the current certainty of moira’s touch, fingers lingering behind the curve of her ear, too, would one day feel to her another manufactured fiction;  one that doesn’t belong to her.

            ❛ thank you. ❜     her voice shakes, a quiet & sincere murmured sigh of relief when she takes moira’s hand in her own, lashes fluttering shut as she leans further into her touch, gingerly pressing her lips into her palm as she breathes in.     ❛ it’s -- ❜     well, it certainly isn’t nothing.  when she smiles again, against moira’s skin, it’s more grounded.  more ...  present.     ❛ nothing’s wrong, not really.  it’s just . . .  do you ever miss home, moira?  or just -- the idea of it? ❜

𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑    /    @foirceann

[empactivating]

@foirceann || SC

       LETTING HERSELF IN -- not a sound nor sight of her as she travels through the room only to stand in front of the geneticist. claws of one hand rest && tap against her work space before she reappears in dramatic fashion.

      ❝ qué onda, moira? you busy? ❞

[zweiherzen]

@foirceann  —  cont. from HERE !

“ and send another on your behalf when you do, ”  comes the snappish response, teeth bared and stubbornness glinting dangerously behind rounded spectacles. Allegations of madness pass him by without drawing his notice, victory in an imminent solace serving as ample distraction. 

Her outburst is met with a blank and  ( typically — though he has enough respect for her, in some manner, that he doubts she would be intimidated by the display )  unnerving stare; he cares too little to think about deciphering the foreign words. But the retreat is exactly what he wanted. Few are hardy enough not to flinch against a cold and furious stare, but fewer still, if any, are resistant against the digging of a blade between their ribs. Careful to avoid any vital organs, of course ...  it should be no concern if she lived up to her previous work.

“ It’s only a scratch, ”  comes the response, laden coarse with exasperation.  “ Stab wounds heal. ”

‘ DON’T BE A BABY — ’  he’s tempted to tack on. But there is a limit for how far even he will go when it comes to testing boundaries in a still-fresh work environment. Though discussions of morality are not what he expected to find in an organisation so keen on employing his particular skill set.  “ And I was under the impression that I would be met here by like-minded people. ”

The pad of a thumb draws across the flat side of the blade, its palm cupped beneath the metal to catch the blood pooling off the edges of the knife. It collects in his hand  ( perhaps it will be of use to him later, he muses ), dark and heavy: a familiar sight that he’s not encountered, not with the same thrill of action, since days of the Crisis. It’s been quite a while since he’s lashed out with such freedom, body snatched beyond the constraints of a mind once ruled so cruelly by illusions of philanthropy.  “ Disappointing. What did Talon ever want my employment for, then? Perhaps you could tell me ...  I would of course be willing to pack my own bags, if it turns out that my views and Talon’s do not align. ”  — And half the organisation’s bodies along with them, if his employers proved less than keen to let him go.

[yblchth]

@foirceann

   “ Strange  to  be  a  stranger ? Ridiculous  you , thums  backwards  saying  makes  no  sense . If  it  were such  a  thing  that  it  be  strange  to  be  a  stranger  then  all  would  be . Though , may  as  well  introduce  myself  since tha’s  made  it  a  conversation . ”  an  adjustment  of  her  glasses . “ Ciocie  Cioelle  Estrella  Von  Maximus the  Third , i’m  a  writer . ”

[eatrude]

@foirceann / sc. 

“ God's terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshippers last Wednesday night in Texas while they sang at him. “

[realitv]

  “OH, YOU PRETTY THING.” 

&& @foirceann :^ )

[atrophite]

pencil symbol please!

handwritten  note  /  semi-accepting  .

TRANSCRIPT  :

Odeorain  ,  

 There  has  been  a  setback  .  I  won’t  be  coming  in  for  the  weekly  results  .  If  the  Commander  comes  in  to  look  for  me  ,  tell  him  I  said  don’t  worry  about  it  .