(no subject)
[All that posts is a single word, painted onto a nondescript wall in unpleasant-looking mud.]







[It's Enochian for "Grace." The PCD doesn't translate because it's only a picture. Raphael needs to ask a question, but the world doesn't need to know.]







[It's Enochian for "Grace." The PCD doesn't translate because it's only a picture. Raphael needs to ask a question, but the world doesn't need to know.]
[Offline] Just before the start of the event.
[Offline] and then for the first however-many-we-feel-like minutes of it.
Why, she thinks, why? She never needs to breathe. She never hurts, either, but she is now, and still on her hands and knees not even looking up to see, but she can hear the sounds of human struggling and coughing nearby.]
[Offline]
[Offline]
Her expression is confused and almost fearful. Everything feels wrong suddenly, the world thin and discolored and enormous. There's wind stinging her face, blinkers on and constricting in ways she couldn't explain, she feels deaf and dumb.]
Michael-
[Offline]
Come on.
[Offline]
Where can we go? [Suddenly things mattered. The elements, running water, electricity. Being near their brothers enough that travel would be easy.]
[Offline]