[this is hardly the greatest pie in the history of pie, but it's still pretty damn good, in the opinion of this one green-haired girl who at least looks enough like she belongs here to fake it. the circumstances of her arrival have been as weird as anything else, but, like, whatever, right? everyone's nice enough, and she's getting some free food out of it, so that's all probably fine.]
[actually, as she thinks about it, there's no real way to know whether this is or is not the greatest pie in the history of pie. she knows nothing of the history of pie. maybe the person she slides in next to will know.]
Hey. Do you know much about pie? I get the feeling I've had better than this, but, like, who knows. [she rests her plate and a brown bottle of sarsaparilla on the table.] Is it the same here every night?
b. but at least they were mine to make [eyes]
[they're silver.]
[that's the first thing she notices when she starts seeing them all around her. and she doesn't know what that means, but she knows that being stared down by these silver eyes is starting to give her a headache. a headache and a horrible sinking feeling in her gut, as though she needs more of that. she's walking through the streets when one of the silver eyes catches hers through a gap in the wood, then another, then another, and they just multiply and multiply and it gets harder and harder to understand what's happening but it's only making her head hurt worse.]
[she ducks off around a corner and backs against the wall of one of the more intact buildings, and she sees her own red eyes staring back at her from a broken reflection, and in an instant—before she can even realize that her nose is bleeding, the red flashes to more silver. more and more, surrounding her, coming from every angle. she sinks to the ground and slams her own eyes shut, and with both hands on her head she screams out,]
Enough! [like it's a plea. like someone will listen.] That's enough. I see you. I see you. Just... tell me what you want.
[she's not expecting a reply. maybe someone can surprise her.]
Emerald Sustrai | RWBY
[this is hardly the greatest pie in the history of pie, but it's still pretty damn good, in the opinion of this one green-haired girl who at least looks enough like she belongs here to fake it. the circumstances of her arrival have been as weird as anything else, but, like, whatever, right? everyone's nice enough, and she's getting some free food out of it, so that's all probably fine.]
[actually, as she thinks about it, there's no real way to know whether this is or is not the greatest pie in the history of pie. she knows nothing of the history of pie. maybe the person she slides in next to will know.]
Hey. Do you know much about pie? I get the feeling I've had better than this, but, like, who knows. [she rests her plate and a brown bottle of sarsaparilla on the table.] Is it the same here every night?
b. but at least they were mine to make [eyes]
[they're silver.]
[that's the first thing she notices when she starts seeing them all around her. and she doesn't know what that means, but she knows that being stared down by these silver eyes is starting to give her a headache. a headache and a horrible sinking feeling in her gut, as though she needs more of that. she's walking through the streets when one of the silver eyes catches hers through a gap in the wood, then another, then another, and they just multiply and multiply and it gets harder and harder to understand what's happening but it's only making her head hurt worse.]
[she ducks off around a corner and backs against the wall of one of the more intact buildings, and she sees her own red eyes staring back at her from a broken reflection, and in an instant—before she can even realize that her nose is bleeding, the red flashes to more silver. more and more, surrounding her, coming from every angle. she sinks to the ground and slams her own eyes shut, and with both hands on her head she screams out,]
Enough! [like it's a plea. like someone will listen.] That's enough. I see you. I see you. Just... tell me what you want.
[she's not expecting a reply. maybe someone can surprise her.]