(no subject)

[an_evening_star]

It's unusual, really, to see the star much of anywhere on her own.

But she's there all the same - curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire with her legs over the armrest and a long white jacket slung over her lap. There's a neat slice on the side of one coatsleeve and a larger hole in the shoulder - and the fine, white string she's attempting to wrangle has stubbornly wound its way down her arm and doesn't seem particularly inclined to cooperate with any amount of frustrated glaring.

She's terrible at this. (Which, truthfully, is most of the motivation for not attempting it upstairs - where certain people could wake up and see.)

She's terrible at it, but that doesn't seem to make her particularly inclined to give up. She continues on, frowning stubbornly, curses soft and mumbled against bleeding fingers and messily tended material.

Interruption would be a blessing. Unless you happen to be a very angry sewing needle offended by the sort of language your tiny, prickly child might be picking up, mind you.

Comments

[an_evening_star]

"You will like it here," she says. "Everyone is different enough that there seems to be a place for everyone to fit."

Even the strange ones.

Especially the strange ones.

[bright_daughter]

"Hope, hope. All their worlds coming together in one place, very little is same-" The vaguest echo of sane "-but it makes it. Swallows in a hurricane who've found a new island and race."

Then she went in for another bite of cake.

This 'sweet' thing was gaining points by the minutes.

[an_evening_star]

Sanity, like many other things, is vastly overrated.

"It broadens horizons, I think."

Sometimes you need to see things you never thought were possible in order to understand much of anything at all.

[bright_daughter]

"It will to mine, as it goes to you," she added the second part with a grin. She'd seen quite a good deal of that, mind.