persisto | ad astra ] inbox

From:

[ The lords she has heard tales of would give gifts of pottery, gold, jars of wine to allies and those in their good favor. Senua has never sighted such grand things nor found them on the planet. So this will have to do: the unblemished fur of a doe-like creature wrapped into a square and tied with twine. Inside are berries and fruits dried in the sun, and a polished bone of the same animal with etchings upon it:

᚛  ᚌᚙᚇᚕᚉᚆᚐᚄ  ᚜

It goes something like gàirdeachas. Joy. Exultation. Joyce. ]

From:

persisto

[It's not something she's expecting, of course. It's honestly something she almost trips over in the little flurry of activity that always comes with leaving her own space (she doesn't actually have to take her keys and wallet, but it helps to have the faintest bit of normalcy).

And it's... not something she completely knows what to make of, as she carefully takes up the fur. There's something in the weight that makes her bring the little bundle inside and undo the twine, lips twitching up at the dried provisions and-- not down at the bone, but certainly back toward straight.

Not exactly a crayon drawing for a kid to show they care.

But thoughtful. Possibly even sweet. Certainly, given the etchings that look like something Will and his friends would have drawn on their game sheets, she's guessing this is either someone doing magic (concerning) or Senua (odd, but less concerning).

She'll test the second theory first (because if someone's already put a hex on her or whatnot, another few minutes can't make that much of a difference), twisting the bone delicately between her fingers as she pads along the hallways to find:] --Senua?

From:

senuna

[ It's true. Every mark left against nature is a gift or a curse and magic courses through all things. A single action ripples across the world to find its way back to its origin. Nothing ever ends. Nothing is ever what it seems. These are the thoughts that occupy her mind when she turns to the sound of her name.

Fatigue marks her face and she regards Joyce with undue wariness. Her gaze drifts past her, beyond her left shoulder, to the hooded figure that only she can see. ( That creature again. ) She doesn't know what he means to do, only it pains her to consider how many he has poisoned against her.

Still, she remembers that fragment of bone in Joyce's hands. A gift freely given, regardless. ]

It's your name. To mark what belongs to you.

From:

persisto

[It isn't exactly the same as the way Will's focus used to slide in and out, but watching Senua's attention drift aside tugs at the same place in Joyce's heart. The ache has a sting to it now, like fingers pressed down onto an almost-healed bruise.

It's good to have the bone to keep her fingers twisting around. Not reaching out to touch people has been getting a little easier, but it's still hardest in moments like this. ]

To-- mark, sweetheart?

From:

senuna

[ In a moment, her expression hardens into anger, hate belying the hurt underneath. She clenches her jaw and breathes hard through her nose. Her eyes aren't trained toward Joyce, but still beyond, at how the figure of her waking nightmare leans toward her ears and whispers words she can't hear but can imagine.

Her eyes soften into a plea when they find Joyce's face again, though her words are snarled. ]

He's a liar. I would never hurt you.

From:

persisto

Hey. Hey.

[Now this is familiar. That contortion of Senua's features is too directed, too specific, even before an unknown 'he' bubbles up over her lips.]

I know you wouldn't.

[Joyce can't stop the instinct of reaching out, one hand still gripping the bone but the other flitting toward catching a light hold of the younger woman's shoulder.]

Just stay with me, Senua, okay?

From:

senuna

[ She flinches instinctively from the touch. Her mind catching up too late to realize that it comes not from those others she fears, but from Joyce. It's difficult to tell when her vision tilts and ripples, lights dancing in the corners, and when there's so much noise. ( As long as you remember you're you. She doesn't know who you are. No one does. No one can. ) Was that this morning? Yesterday? Did Joyce ever say those words at all?

She rests both hands on Joyce's shoulders, leaning in to close off the rest of the world. It's clear that she's struggling to stay, struggling to conjure a message that would make its way through. Her pupils are dilated, her gaze averted from here. ]

I'm here. I see you. [ She moves her hand to the carved bone Joyce holds. ] Something's coming.

2. (intransitive) I remain.

ad astra ] inbox

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags