[hr][hr][center][h1][color=Purple]Waverley Watts - Feedback[/color][/h1][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/bf145d0a6666d89ccd906998d5485178/tumblr_pzgkamIH7y1y6r9a6o1_540.gifv[/img][hr]
[color=Purple][b]Location:[/b][/color] Mutant Underground HQ
[color=Purple][b]Skills: [/b][/color][/center][hr][hr]
Waverley was pulled out of her dissociative gaze down at the forms wandering through the bunker when a granola bar landed perfectly in her lap, leaning against the rebar laid across her thighs. It felt somewhat jarring, being yanked back to the forefront of her brain after trying so hard to push herself away from it. She glanced up, a look of confusion present on her face. Despite being able to see almost everyone from her vantage point, she was so lost in her own mind that she wasn't sure who threw it. She didn't linger on the question for long, her eyes flicking over to Negasonic when she asked her question. Part of her wanted to blow up, yell that she was not 'good', ask the punk girl how the hell could she possibly be good. But, as always, this part of her was quiet, chained starving to the back of her mind. 

[color=purple]"Yeah..."[/color] she croaked instead, nodding her head. Her voice, having only been used for sobbing the previous forty five minutes, sounded rusty, like it hadn't been used in years. It distorted her reply, making it sound more like a quiet grunt than anything else. Despite what she might've said, Waverley was not good. That much was clear. She looked at the others on the stairs, and then down at those on the first floor. Part of Waverley felt like she was at the kid's table of a family gathering. She felt, as much as she could feel, given her emotional drainage, guilty that she wasn't down there. But another, bigger part of her felt like she was exactly where she belonged. She was still a kid after all, as much as she tried not to be. There was an absence of a certain anxiety she felt when she was with the older members, an anxiety to be grown up, which was an anxiety she couldn't deal with right then. With the staircase kids, if she closed her eyes, she could imagine they were on the bleachers in some high school comedy-drama movie, where nobody dies and everyone gets a happy ending. 

[color=purple]"Have you ever wanted to kill someone?"[/color] she asked, the question tumbling without permission out of her mouth as soon as the topic of death came to mind. The question surprised her. She hadn't developed it in her brain before saying it. Instead it simply came out, as if it had always been wordlessly hanging in her mind. Despite her lack of intention, however, Waverley still looked to the others with interest, waiting to see how they'd answer.