Something was off, Roaki knew it right away. Usually Quinnlash came bursting in loud as anything, eager to talk and pretend—for whatever nebulous reasons she had—as if they did not despise each other. Sometimes it was only for minutes, sometimes it was an hour, sometimes early, others late. She didn’t know what time it was now, but as the silence, usually disallowed to last a handful of moments, stretched into [i]minutes[/i], she knew something was wrong. 

Her hand squeezed the sheet in a fist. [i][color=ec008c]Is this it?[/color][/i] she thought. Had the mask finally slipped off? Had she finally exhausted Quinnlash’s seemingly-endless patience? Or perhaps over the weeks she’d simply gotten everything she needed. Roaki knew silence, knew it well enough to know nothing good came after it. Were these people finally going to start treating her like the enemy?

Evidently not. 

When Quinn spoke she sounded different. Sad. That wasn’t anything new. Quinn had cried plenty—Roaki remembered because it infuriated her every time, reminded her she’d lost to a [i]crybaby[/i], that she was [i]worse[/i]. This sounded less like ridiculous guilt or sympathy, and more like…nostalgia. The pain of memory. 

Roaki had become privy to many of Quinnlash’s feelings, none of which made her any easier to understand. But [i]this[/i]—pain. Pain she could understand. Perhaps this was an opportunity, and if she listened closely, she might discover the girl’s true weakness. 

[i][color=ec008c]Or she’s messing with you, you fucking idiot.[/color][/i]

That, she decided, was also a possibility. Weeks spent waiting for the other shoe to drop; was this gravity at work? She supposed it didn’t matter, really. She didn’t have much use for shoes anyway. 

“[color=ec008c]Okay,[/color]” she answered. “[color=ec008c]Sure. Why’d they do it?[/color]”