[ The last time she held hands with someone, it was with Amos. Before that, Sunny. Sometimes Esther.
(Distantly, she thinks about how in that list, only one person out of those names is alive.)
Marc's hand is in the same ballpark as the first β his is just as gruff and calloused as Amos', maybe even more. It's dirty, and where the dirt isn't speckling his skin or caked beneath his nails, Lottie can see the beginnings of scars. She only takes a second more to look, just in time for him to say 'that's cute'. His hand is new, and different, and obviously she isn't exactly all sunshine and rainbows with his attitude, but it's warm (human?). And he's at least working with her enough to only gripe about the obvious, instead of why she needs his hand.
She gives one squeeze, uses it as an excuse to anchor her hand with him a tad more. ]
Yeah.. Super cute.
[ To Lottie, the actual process of using the stones is something she's far too used to. All that happens is: she imagines the one tucked away at the entrance of Highstorm, and they're there. She doesn't consider how jarring it might be to Marc β the instantaneous displacement of air and that ever strange, ever overbearing sensation of magic that always lingers a little too long on your skin after, makes you smell funny β outside of the obvious shock of wow we're somewhere different.
There's no more earthy tones in the air, no grass or mud. All of a sudden there is a plethora of sounds and smells, but more importantly? A distinct lack of sun. Highstorm is forever clad in night, forever dated in aesthetic, but it's home (sort of). Lottie looks at Marc (because she's never turned away from him, just darted her eyes somewhere to the side), lets her grip loosen on his handβ she's watching to see if he's alright, because the first time she did this she had to vomit. But she doesn't voice her concern, instead letting that silent 'You ok?' sit for him to read on her expression. ]
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(Distantly, she thinks about how in that list, only one person out of those names is alive.)
Marc's hand is in the same ballpark as the first β his is just as gruff and calloused as Amos', maybe even more. It's dirty, and where the dirt isn't speckling his skin or caked beneath his nails, Lottie can see the beginnings of scars. She only takes a second more to look, just in time for him to say 'that's cute'. His hand is new, and different, and obviously she isn't exactly all sunshine and rainbows with his attitude, but it's warm (human?). And he's at least working with her enough to only gripe about the obvious, instead of why she needs his hand.
She gives one squeeze, uses it as an excuse to anchor her hand with him a tad more. ]
Yeah.. Super cute.
[ To Lottie, the actual process of using the stones is something she's far too used to. All that happens is: she imagines the one tucked away at the entrance of Highstorm, and they're there. She doesn't consider how jarring it might be to Marc β the instantaneous displacement of air and that ever strange, ever overbearing sensation of magic that always lingers a little too long on your skin after, makes you smell funny β outside of the obvious shock of wow we're somewhere different.
There's no more earthy tones in the air, no grass or mud. All of a sudden there is a plethora of sounds and smells, but more importantly? A distinct lack of sun. Highstorm is forever clad in night, forever dated in aesthetic, but it's home (sort of). Lottie looks at Marc (because she's never turned away from him, just darted her eyes somewhere to the side), lets her grip loosen on his handβ she's watching to see if he's alright, because the first time she did this she had to vomit. But she doesn't voice her concern, instead letting that silent 'You ok?' sit for him to read on her expression. ]