[Briefly, she notes the change in Greg's whining, and a part of her is relieved that it seems like he's going to finally move on to... honestly, just about anywhere else. If someone had asked her ten minutes ago to describe how she thought she might one day be reunited with friends from her own world, this is not even close to how she would have pictured it. The rubber avocado crying in the background really distracts from the importance the moment should have, and she's really doing her best to just ignore him. It's difficult, but she's trying.
Where she's been for four years is a whole other conversation that will require a lot of time to tell, and a lot of text messages. But for now, his assumption serves; he has a grasp on exactly how long it's been since she's seen him. That's the crux of his question, she's answered it, and they can move on for now. Her hand lowers back to her side.
From anyone else, that tone of voice might have made her flinch. She's come so far these past years, and no longer jumps at every raised voice or loud noise, but there are still moments when she feels fourteen again, terrified of everyone and everything around her. But in the face of Heine's acerbic attitude, she stands still, a slight rustle of her wings her only tell.
Because no, she isn't really okay. She hasn't been okay in a long time. But she doesn't have the words for that now, to explain to him what pieces of her are steadfast and what pieces are just barely hanging on. So for a few brief moments, she takes stock of herself, her place here, and everything about herself in this exact moment. Everything else gets shoved aside for later. She's always been so good at compartmentalizing.
A nod, and a gentle exhale. Sure, right now she's okay. More okay than last week, last month, last year when she was so, so certain she'd never see him again. A lot of that uneasiness seems to fall away thanks to just his presence, even if she still holds a small kernel of fear inside (he could disappear in a second, not a word, and she'd have to pick herself back up once again). But yes, right now, she's okay. She has to be.
Jeeze, Greg sure isn't. He's wailing now, and her gaze flicks over Heine's shoulder for a second to look at the poor avocadoy mess, and she cringes a little. She makes a little "come on" gesture to Heine, taking one step back and hoping he'll follow suit. This will all be a whole lot less awkward if they aren't witnessing the rubber man's heartbreak in real time.]
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Where she's been for four years is a whole other conversation that will require a lot of time to tell, and a lot of text messages. But for now, his assumption serves; he has a grasp on exactly how long it's been since she's seen him. That's the crux of his question, she's answered it, and they can move on for now. Her hand lowers back to her side.
From anyone else, that tone of voice might have made her flinch. She's come so far these past years, and no longer jumps at every raised voice or loud noise, but there are still moments when she feels fourteen again, terrified of everyone and everything around her. But in the face of Heine's acerbic attitude, she stands still, a slight rustle of her wings her only tell.
Because no, she isn't really okay. She hasn't been okay in a long time. But she doesn't have the words for that now, to explain to him what pieces of her are steadfast and what pieces are just barely hanging on. So for a few brief moments, she takes stock of herself, her place here, and everything about herself in this exact moment. Everything else gets shoved aside for later. She's always been so good at compartmentalizing.
A nod, and a gentle exhale. Sure, right now she's okay. More okay than last week, last month, last year when she was so, so certain she'd never see him again. A lot of that uneasiness seems to fall away thanks to just his presence, even if she still holds a small kernel of fear inside (he could disappear in a second, not a word, and she'd have to pick herself back up once again). But yes, right now, she's okay. She has to be.
Jeeze, Greg sure isn't. He's wailing now, and her gaze flicks over Heine's shoulder for a second to look at the poor avocadoy mess, and she cringes a little. She makes a little "come on" gesture to Heine, taking one step back and hoping he'll follow suit. This will all be a whole lot less awkward if they aren't witnessing the rubber man's heartbreak in real time.]