The double looks up at her blankly, running through the memories of their true self, trying to pick out her face from the months they'd been here. Nothing comes up. That isn't to say she hasn't been there; just that she, like most adults, has been lost to the category of untouchable. Not to be spoken to.
Good children aren't seen, and aren't heard. Isn't that right? She takes note of their knife with the kind of derision that should, quite frankly, be expected, and they look down at it for a moment, before their attention goes back to her.
"Works for me." Is she going to make them repeat themself? Really?
it's all good my dude
The double looks up at her blankly, running through the memories of their true self, trying to pick out her face from the months they'd been here. Nothing comes up. That isn't to say she hasn't been there; just that she, like most adults, has been lost to the category of untouchable. Not to be spoken to.
Good children aren't seen, and aren't heard. Isn't that right? She takes note of their knife with the kind of derision that should, quite frankly, be expected, and they look down at it for a moment, before their attention goes back to her.
"Works for me." Is she going to make them repeat themself? Really?
They take a step forward.