She sees the way Allison shapes the word, tries to say it. Watches her eyes go unfocused while she mentally types. Vanya wants to tell her it's okay, she might not be a lip reader, but she got that one. Only the guilt is already eating at her anger, feeding on it like some monster growing stronger, and it keeps her jaw locked, lips pressed tight together.
Allison can't talk because of her, what right does she have to comment on any of it?
The words appear in her lower vision; V blinks reflexively, but barely glances at them. She doesn't answer right away: she's too busy pressing indentations of her teeth into her tongue, a guilty reaction to snapping. It's hard to hold it back when she opens her mouth again, and what she says is stiff and stilted, because she's trying, visibly, to reign it in.
"I don't know. I felt it when I woke up here." She felt the blood, hear the ringing, was dizzy and nearly stumbling as they escorted her from the Porter: most of the symptoms she's gotten a handle on - the vertigo doesn't hit her nearly as frequently - but how can she even think of playing - of being around music again, when she's terrified of how it will sound?
no subject
Allison can't talk because of her, what right does she have to comment on any of it?
The words appear in her lower vision; V blinks reflexively, but barely glances at them. She doesn't answer right away: she's too busy pressing indentations of her teeth into her tongue, a guilty reaction to snapping. It's hard to hold it back when she opens her mouth again, and what she says is stiff and stilted, because she's trying, visibly, to reign it in.
"I don't know. I felt it when I woke up here." She felt the blood, hear the ringing, was dizzy and nearly stumbling as they escorted her from the Porter: most of the symptoms she's gotten a handle on - the vertigo doesn't hit her nearly as frequently - but how can she even think of playing - of being around music again, when she's terrified of how it will sound?