Ripley's fingers travel slow down the split where knife's edge marks skin, tough like a callous beneath her hairline. To her relief, her own attack makes no wound. No evidence of actions not her own. No blood. So, whose...? It doesn't matter. Demon magic or syrup, she doesn't care. So long as it isn't blood, and so long as it isn't Fever's.
Her mind's gears turn, slow and un-oiled, churning through details that mean nothing without the proper context.
Strange, Fever looks just as clueless as she does.
"That stone— she took it from you. Why did I— did she want it so badly?"
no subject
Ripley's fingers travel slow down the split where knife's edge marks skin, tough like a callous beneath her hairline. To her relief, her own attack makes no wound. No evidence of actions not her own. No blood. So, whose...? It doesn't matter. Demon magic or syrup, she doesn't care. So long as it isn't blood, and so long as it isn't Fever's.
Her mind's gears turn, slow and un-oiled, churning through details that mean nothing without the proper context.
Strange, Fever looks just as clueless as she does.
"That stone— she took it from you. Why did I— did she want it so badly?"