The flu. The title makes her grin unconsciously, knowing her other self would hate being called that. And she punctuates it by figuring out how to lean over and hug him, feeling something wake up that thrives on the idea of a project, of turning her focus external instead of wearing a path over the floor inside her head.
"Do I get a name, or another hint?"
She's fine with solving a puzzle, she just wants to know where to start looking.
“Now, what fun would it be if I told you outright? I’ve practically given you the answer already. Neither northerly nor southerly, raging against shadows. You’ll find each other when you decide you need to.”
"That could be today, in a few weeks - it could be yesterday and I had no idea." Drawing back, she has a considering expression. "Is it yesterday?"
Perhaps for her mystery offering, it is. She hopes not for herself, she's been trying to keep her house in order so that there is nowhere for the phantom parasite to hide from her. This is the season for caterpillars and buds, not unwelcome gluttons.
There's that spark in her eye of comprehension. That information will be useful later, but doesn't make sense in the current moment.
"...It's spring. Plenty of time to plan to bury all the risen dead before the next Mourner's Night."
She'll keep eyes and ears and nose open. If Father's handing this one over to her, it's a case that needs her touch. Something mortal, not cosmic upheaval.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He gives her a soft smile.
“What was is mine. What is is yours. If you can rely on me for anything, it’s that.”
no subject
"Do I get a name, or another hint?"
She's fine with solving a puzzle, she just wants to know where to start looking.
no subject
no subject
Perhaps for her mystery offering, it is. She hopes not for herself, she's been trying to keep her house in order so that there is nowhere for the phantom parasite to hide from her. This is the season for caterpillars and buds, not unwelcome gluttons.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"...It's spring. Plenty of time to plan to bury all the risen dead before the next Mourner's Night."
She'll keep eyes and ears and nose open. If Father's handing this one over to her, it's a case that needs her touch. Something mortal, not cosmic upheaval.