[right][h2][color=999999]Lost in Translation[/color][/h2][@Auragreedia][@Tlazolteotl][@Stanifly][/right]

[color=8882be][b]”U-um, uh…”[/b] Sirpa’s voice trembled. She looked from Silver Blade to Morgan and back again. [i]“Is the door asking you about going astray?”[/i] Was Silver Blade talking to her like that on purpose? Was she mocking her? Or trying to break through the barrier? [b]“Why-…”[/b]

At Westbound’s alarmed response, Sirpa felt a wave of panic seize her chest. [i]It’s not a stroke it’s not a stroke it’s not a stroke I promise it’s not-[/i]

And then the employee was back. Come to drop the bomb that she [i]did[/i] in fact poison their drinks? But then she spoke, and Sirpa listened.

And what she said did nothing to quell her building anxiety. 

For a brief moment, she wondered whether she [i]did[/i] still want to make it home. The woman’s words looped in Sirpa’s brain. [i]“To let someone else’s Catharsis bleed into you that easily.”[/i] The woman wasn’t wrong. She could feel it now, the beginning of Westbound’s pain. Something throbbing. Did the other people here feel it too? Were they even real? It felt…[i]good[/i], like how a massage could be painful yet pleasurable. Sirpa sat there with the feeling for a moment before quickly shutting it away. She knew it wouldn’t feel good for long.

Knowing that she was holding onto the wrong part of the employee’s message, Sirpa dropped her gaze to the table in front of her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glance of Westbound’s notebook. But to her surprise, it was not gibberish. She turned her head to get a real look.

[b][i]“Wesley,”[/i][/b] she said, still looking at his handwriting on the paper. Her voice was quiet and unsteady as she continued. [b]“That makes more sense and honestly is what I thought might have actually been your name.”[/b] She looked up at him now and made eye contact. 

The swirl of music and lights and people began to blend into one auditory experience rather than a million little stimulants. 

[i]Thump. Thump.[/i]

The music moved with her breath and simultaneously stabilized and placated her. Wesley’s pain hit her again and she let it drag for a few seconds before shaking it off. She couldn’t tell if this time was easier or more difficult. But all the sounds were clear and organized and meaningful.

Sirpa stood and reached for Wesley’s wrist. [b]“I think I know what to do,”[/b] she said, preparing to pull him from his seat toward the throng of dancing people. She wasn’t sure if she could stop the music. She also wasn’t sure if she wanted to right now. But it felt right to get into the heart of everything. [/color]