[hr][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/cQ1NPja.png[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/jttTmEk.png[/img][/center][right][b][code]Spanksgiving.[/code][/b][/right][right][b]Interactions: Vin ([@FernStone], & Paloma ([@Atrophy]))[/b][/right][hr][hr]


For a long moment. 

There was silence.

Destiny blinked.

For a moment, she thought she’d misread it—both the tone and the intent. The woman’s voice was too bright, too soft around the edges. [color=springgreen]“You’re just too cute.” “We’re adopting her.” “What is it you’d like to learn, sweetie?”[/color]

Her brain snagged on the cadence of it, like a record skip. Cute? Adopting? Sweetie? The words didn’t fit. Not here. Not with the heaviness that usually clung to grown-ups. It wasn’t pity - pity was cold, predictable - but this... this was warm in a way that didn’t make sense. Her first instinct was defense. She’s [i]lying[/i]. Nobody just offers warmth. Nobody wraps it in a smile without wanting something back. Maybe Paloma was trying to make herself look good in front of Vin. Perhaps this was part of some bizarre public display of virtue. Maybe she wanted the crowd to see her being generous.

That tracked. That made sense.

Except—no.

The thought flickered against Destiny’s telepathy, faint and erratic like static. Paloma’s mind was a storm of sugar and noise—genuine, unfiltered, chaotic [i]sincerity[/i]. It wasn’t manipulation. It wasn’t pretense. It was just [i]there,[/i] flooding out like light through a cracked window. Destiny’s brows furrowed, unease tightening at her ribs. She didn’t know what to do with that. Genuine kindness didn’t fit anywhere in the map of her world. It had nowhere to land.

[color=757566]”I-”[/color] Destiny hesitated, the words getting caught in her throat before she forced them out. [color=757566]”... I don't want to make cookies.”[/color] Her voice was sharp. Firm. Strong. As if the question was a demand that Destiny vehemently denied.

Her eyes flicked to Vin next, searching for something steadier, something familiar in the other woman’s eyes. Vin’s gaze was watchful, not unkind, but grounded—real. That, Destiny understood. The way predators recognized each other across the dark.

[color=757566]”[b][i]I[/i][/b] said I wanted to learn how to fight,”[/color] Destiny continued, far quieter now, [color=757566]”To defend myself. I'm not-”[/color] Her lips pressed together, the thought finishing in her mind instead: [i]I’m not yours to fix.[/i]

The silence that followed stretched thin, like it might break if anyone breathed too loudly. Destiny’s telepathy brushed the edges of their minds again—reflex, not intrusion. Vin’s focus burned hot and practical, like a knife’s edge. Paloma’s concern hummed with a wild, genuine quality.

Both confused her. 

Both terrified her.

[color=757566]“... If you’re teaching,”[/color] she said to Vin, [color=757566]“I’ll learn.”[/color]

A simple statement. A truce. Nothing more.

But under it, beneath the practiced calm, her mind was already working—trying to predict the cost. Because there was [i]always[/i] a cost.