[ It's true, she hasn't. Not in the detail he wants. She digs a little deeper into the ground when he points it out, when she feels the dirt shift and sees him in her peripheral standing. Him standing like that makes her extraordinarily nervous, tense, and when she decides fuck it and forces her thoughts onto him, the feelings transfer over.
She's experienced enough to filter it out, if she wanted, but she doesn't. She lets him grab a taste of her emotions and all the complications that come with it when she instills impressions of invents, conversations, into his mind.
There's one, two, digs of dirt, accompanied with fragments of her own memories, of the same dream he had but its own Lottie Person flavor. It's the tiniest bit different, but the impression is all the same: everything is gone. He sees Lottie traverse through another equally moonlit, equally dreary, city. One whose name escapes her because her attention span, and then dirt. The taste of it on her tongue as she wakes up. The panic that floods her brain when she emerges from that same grave he looked towards. Then Highstorm, the city comprised of moonlight. Her hand resting against the foggy window of her home, snow dabbling against the glass. A man named Manon and faction conflict, a frozen castle on a recently recovered island. But above all: a promise of, eventually, you'll have what you want (in reference to that god forsaken dream, it always is).
One that's clearly been made to Lottie, because it's not her saying it, but the factional mother, Yima.
It's a crude, rushed, version of everything that she's experienced. Bits and pieces of people and conflicts Marc gets a taste of, like the eternal Meridian and Zenith debacle (which he'll feel a distant feeling of: meh, where it concerns Lottie β it's clear that whatever war is going on she isn't particularly affected enough to reject friendship from the opposite faction). ]
Does that work?
[ She says, finally making eye contact with him as she finished carving out the impression of this poor arrival into the dirt. ]
no subject
She's experienced enough to filter it out, if she wanted, but she doesn't. She lets him grab a taste of her emotions and all the complications that come with it when she instills impressions of invents, conversations, into his mind.
There's one, two, digs of dirt, accompanied with fragments of her own memories, of the same dream he had but its own Lottie Person flavor. It's the tiniest bit different, but the impression is all the same: everything is gone. He sees Lottie traverse through another equally moonlit, equally dreary, city. One whose name escapes her because her attention span, and then dirt. The taste of it on her tongue as she wakes up. The panic that floods her brain when she emerges from that same grave he looked towards. Then Highstorm, the city comprised of moonlight. Her hand resting against the foggy window of her home, snow dabbling against the glass. A man named Manon and faction conflict, a frozen castle on a recently recovered island. But above all: a promise of, eventually, you'll have what you want (in reference to that god forsaken dream, it always is).
One that's clearly been made to Lottie, because it's not her saying it, but the factional mother, Yima.
It's a crude, rushed, version of everything that she's experienced. Bits and pieces of people and conflicts Marc gets a taste of, like the eternal Meridian and Zenith debacle (which he'll feel a distant feeling of: meh, where it concerns Lottie β it's clear that whatever war is going on she isn't particularly affected enough to reject friendship from the opposite faction). ]
Does that work?
[ She says, finally making eye contact with him as she finished carving out the impression of this poor arrival into the dirt. ]