[b]Orange![/b]

"Ah, good!" she said. There was an ethereal air to her voice and smile. "Thank you, yes, thank you, excuse me for one moment, I've just been extremely stressed about ways this conversation could go and the really bad one didn't happen, so excuse me, I need to go have a tension relief panic attack in the bathroom for fifteen minutes before I continue, thank you, excuse me, thank you -"

She set a timer on her phone and left it on the table as collateral, elegantly tucked her chair back in under the table, and quickly stepped away.

... Some part of her resented a lack of physiological response to emotional stressors. Her mind-body interface was simply not given to the little microtics that made humans so expressive. She could blush if she set her mind to it, could feign a shiver, could laugh or cry but all of those things were choices. It always made her feel like an imposter, like a liar. What if it was the other way around? What if she [i]was [/i]fully capable of displaying these signs spontaneously and expressing herself clearly, but she just didn't have sufficient emotional range to prompt it in the first place? 

Of course it was possible to be feeling some of the most intense emotions she had ever felt and simultaneously believe that she wasn't capable of feeling emotions at all. For one of them to be false meant taking a less than maximally negative view of herself, and she hadn't got to where she was today with [i]that [/i]kind of thinking.

Limited time. Too exposed. She wants to rotate colours but she can't, she left the phone behind. She wants to express emotional authenticity, make it clear that even though she could lie about something like this she's not doing that right now. Make some sort of dramatic gesture of trust, the dramatic gesture of trust of five minutes ago obviously did not count. Change the topic and orient on Crystal's story. Spoken about self enough. Evade, but in an authentic way. Write it as a book. Only a book would be enough. If only she could write. 

She looks in the mirror and makes herself cry. It's fake, controlled. Makes her feel better anyway. Makes her feel like maybe a little bit of all of this is real even if most of it isn't. She cares enough to cry where no one can see. That's not nothing.

She cleans up. Carefully dries her eyes, re-establishes her mascara - she doesn't [i]really [/i]need it, her eyelashes are wonderful, but she likes the look. It's like looking at stars; big and bright enough that attention falls where she wants it to. Smooths out her dress. Still herself. Breathing controlled. Perfect.

"... Thank you for your patience," she said, returning and sitting with a frame-perfect reversal of her standing motion. She stops the timer at eight seconds and returns the phone to her handbag. "Forgive me. One moment, I need to text an ex, who is a back alley neruosurgeon, to arrange subtextually consensual brain surgery on my ex murderer, one moment -"

Orange: Sophie! :D :D :D
Orange: Do I have a job just for you!

"Thank you," she said, setting her phone down. "Okay. Alright. Thank you. I'm alright. Thank you. What was the question?"

*

[b]November![/b]

She's just maintained absolute focus for an extended period of time. That's not natural, that's not easy. November sets out some crash mats for herself and then collapses into the void.

The conversation is silent. Phones are out. Games are being played. Complex math puzzles solved. Levels are upped. Everything and nothing, enough to sedate the mind and occupy the hands and no more. A way to fast forward in time so she doesn't have to be with herself. A way to add some distance between her and a state of maximal stress and maximal thought. A liminal state between life and death and the conquest of Bohemia as soon as its French ally finds itself distracted by another war. 

It's not fully relaxing. It never can be. There's still a baseline level of external vigilance, a baseline awareness of checks and deeds and additional maneuvers to ensure operational integrity, an itchy nervous energy that isn't fully spent despite the exhaustion. But it is a line drawn in the sand for her own benefit. The operation is over. This thing we're doing now is a new thing, a different thing, and it's not yet time to revisit the previous thing.

[Preparedness 0/8]