( open )

[persistor]

Who: red (persistor) & friends
What: catch-all
When: august + beyond, probably
Where: nadril
Warning(s): probably gross feelings

( a certain voiceless singer got her voice back, which means it's time to surprise folks. if you want a thread, hit me up! i'm happy to write starters for anyone that wants one ( if you want to surprise me with a wildcard, that's cool too ). c:

nevermind, i wrote an open prompt. )

Comments

[desistor]

[It's not a perfect arrangement, all this. Nothing is fixed, nothing they've lost has been salvaged. But in most ways, it's enough. They're safe, for the most part. And they're together. He's adjusted, mostly, to the odd inbetween state the Natha had negotiated for him. Not quite here but not quite there. Makes the times he's confined entirely to the Transistor all the more bearable to know they're not indefinite. Even if it's not the same, it's more than he'd let himself hope for, once.

So he doesn't much feel the cold of the air, but he's solid enough to feel the tap at his shoulder when she pulls him short before they can leave. Solid enough that when she stumbles and pitches forward, he closes the distance and reaches reflexively to catch her and steady her. But then—

(He freezes, but his reflexes recover faster. Even as he plays the sound of her again and again to be sure he'd heard it right. Low, rough, kind of croaky. As if from disuse. But he'd never mistake it. He still regrets not being able to stop what had happened to her.)

She's not falling anymore, but he fumbles to catch her, anyway. The Transistor clatters loudly to the floor as he drops it, forgotten to free himself to face her. Hands lifting to cradle her jaw and tip her head up toward him urgently, head bowed close enough to see the surprise in her own eyes.

Oddly, his own voice seems to have vanished, for a moment. Then, hushed but urgently, inanely—]

Red?

[persistor]

[ When will we get to write COMEDY

For all the time she wished she could speak, she suddenly finds that — when faced with the ( possible, maybe ) ability to, she's not certain anymore. Some part of her insists that her voice hasn't returned, that it was just a fluke; the other part is skeptical, wondering why it came back now, of all times. Either way, she's not sure if she can handle the idea of trying to speak, and find absolutely nothing there once more.

Red blinks up at Boxer. It's obvious that he's heard it, too. Scratchy and awful but her's, nonetheless, and despite all that's going through her head at the moment she doesn't ever look away. Studying him as much as he's studying her, as if he'd have the answers to all of this.

Then, before she thinks about it, she clears her throat — she can't remember the last time she's done that, but she could hum perfectly fine before, couldn't she? Coughs, a little. Licks her lips, noticeably nervous for the first time since ... she could remember, really. This could change everything, one way or the other. ]

Ah— Oh. [ A test noise, and the confirmation that it worked. Her eyes widen, a hand reaching to grip at Boxer's forearm. ]

... Hi.

[desistor]

[I have never once in my life written comedy, I don't know what you expected.

She clears her throat. Reaches up to grip at his arm, a distant, urgent pressure to punctuate the phantom feeling of his heart leaping up in his chest. Just a few long seconds of uncertainty in the dead silence of the room, but it seems to stretch on for ages. Until she edges her way slowly out from humming and into speaking, for the first time since—

Well. The apprehension hangs in the air for a few fragile seconds after she speaks. Like he's afraid to interrupt her, lest he miss a moment of what she has to say. But then—he folds. Composure collapsing like a deck of cards. He ducks his head, presses his forehead down into hers, fingers still resting feather-light at the edge of her jaw. And breathless, immeasurably fond, if not entirely steady—]

Hi, yourself.

[Go on.]