[She's trying to work through something. He can't always tell, with how very blank she is, but this time he's sure of it. She touches her lips like she's trying to feel the words that have fled, as if she might find the tracks in their shape.
She says her name. He doesn't know if that's what she was looking for. She tries to reach for the book and misses much how she misses the words. He keeps holding it out, patient. Or maybe just desperately hopeful.
He winces at the click of her collar but he doesn't move until the book is in her hands. In this way, something is complete. He smiles.]
Ryder... the writer... You liked to read... You told me... before... You wanted to be... a writer... I wished that... I could read... your stories...
no subject
She says her name. He doesn't know if that's what she was looking for. She tries to reach for the book and misses much how she misses the words. He keeps holding it out, patient. Or maybe just desperately hopeful.
He winces at the click of her collar but he doesn't move until the book is in her hands. In this way, something is complete. He smiles.]
Ryder... the writer... You liked to read... You told me... before... You wanted to be... a writer... I wished that... I could read... your stories...