[ Alert read, Lorca sits back at his desk in Victrix. Stiff, teeth clenched, throat dry. He's not distracted — he's been struck. Blow for blow.
But did she fire by choice? Or by instinct?
Her fantasy rolls through him, lapping at the confines of his skin. He adds and alters nothing, even once his mind floats back to the surface. Lorca grabs up the nearby tumbler glass, drains the scotch, then takes his device in hand again. ]
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cryptofascist) wrote2023-08-07 04:42 pm
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But did she fire by choice? Or by instinct?
Her fantasy rolls through him, lapping at the confines of his skin. He adds and alters nothing, even once his mind floats back to the surface. Lorca grabs up the nearby tumbler glass, drains the scotch, then takes his device in hand again. ]
Wasn't it?
no subject
Was it for you?