"They did?" Shows how much he notices. Though now that he thinks about it, there were a bunch of maintenance workers outside complaining about lightbulbs. Maybe? The whole morning was kind of a watercoloured daze, probably just a problem with the transformer, no big deal.
It's only when they both go inside does the distracting mental thread collapse. Okay, the door's open, it's not an explicit permission to enter but it's implicit, that's good enough, right? And even if it's not, he's dodged past that countless times with an endless line of loopholes and half-truths and that abyssal black pit of self that everything feeds off of. The rule of Thou Shalt Not Enter burns like bright pools of red, but ignoring spilled blood has always been one of his talents.
Any other time, it's easy to step over it. Now, the hand hovering near the doorframe freezes. It's a lightning-shock of ice running along unseen burns, and (the ice turns to paresthesias, followed by a mental flatline of refusal to enter, trying to cross the barrier burns until you hit into an invisible pane of glass-) the hand lowers. There's not Enough to defy this.
Dammit, Ghost Girl wins a point. This is unacceptable.
"I can't." Externally, it's with a look of Minor Annoyance with his arms crossed. Internally, Aradia might hear the internal snap of ashamed NO from the very thought of knowing Ghost Girl was right. Saying anything else admitting she's right, but just leaving is rude to Clara, so what's worth more? Being nice to Clara or proving Ghost Girl wrong.
Dammit. The following sentence is now Legitimate Annoyance, "It has to be explicit."
no subject
It's only when they both go inside does the distracting mental thread collapse. Okay, the door's open, it's not an explicit permission to enter but it's implicit, that's good enough, right? And even if it's not, he's dodged past that countless times with an endless line of loopholes and half-truths and that abyssal black pit of self that everything feeds off of. The rule of Thou Shalt Not Enter burns like bright pools of red, but ignoring spilled blood has always been one of his talents.
Any other time, it's easy to step over it. Now, the hand hovering near the doorframe freezes. It's a lightning-shock of ice running along unseen burns, and (the ice turns to paresthesias, followed by a mental flatline of refusal to enter, trying to cross the barrier burns until you hit into an invisible pane of glass-) the hand lowers. There's not Enough to defy this.
Dammit, Ghost Girl wins a point. This is unacceptable.
"I can't." Externally, it's with a look of Minor Annoyance with his arms crossed. Internally, Aradia might hear the internal snap of ashamed NO from the very thought of knowing Ghost Girl was right. Saying anything else admitting she's right, but just leaving is rude to Clara, so what's worth more? Being nice to Clara or proving Ghost Girl wrong.
Dammit. The following sentence is now Legitimate Annoyance, "It has to be explicit."