( The mention of Mumbai hitches Luther's breath, a little. Somehow, he'd imagined himself into a corner where she didn't pay attention or even notice the Academy news at all, didn't care about it anymore, had excised it (and him) from her life like a years-old tumor. And the repeated apology feels... different, when he pores over it. Sorry was always his M.O.; Rumor was unabashed, never ashamed, never apologised for herself. Still, he drinks up each and every word, each hint of her and what she's like and the gaps in the past two years, this aching void where she was supposed to be by his side. Interviews just aren't the same; Allison's voice never really sounds like her when she's mouthing soundbites for the cameras, or her words are pressed into magazine articles. It's slick, practiced, superficial. It's the same sort of shit they always parroted off during their Academy press junkets. It's not actually his best friend, the one he'd sit up late talking to.
And he drinks up any details she has of the outside. The manor's gotten intolerably, unbearably quiet since she was the last to leave — it makes his shoulderblades crawl, makes him pace the hallways like a leashed-up and restless dog. )
Allison,
An insanity rating of 200 but at least nobody's coming after you with knives or sledgehammers if they don't like your work. Do the stakes feel weirdly low after everything you've seen? I keep thinking it would.
Will do. I haven't told Dad that you wrote. I think Mom wants to send some home-baked cookies or something, I'll include them in a package— she's still not all that used to there being fewer people around to eat her cooking.
And thanks. The airport still got destroyed, but that just happens sometimes when robots attack, I guess.
no subject
And he drinks up any details she has of the outside. The manor's gotten intolerably, unbearably quiet since she was the last to leave — it makes his shoulderblades crawl, makes him pace the hallways like a leashed-up and restless dog. )
An insanity rating of 200 but at least nobody's coming after you with knives or sledgehammers if they don't like your work. Do the stakes feel weirdly low after everything you've seen? I keep thinking it would.
Will do. I haven't told Dad that you wrote. I think Mom wants to send some home-baked cookies or something, I'll include them in a package— she's still not all that used to there being fewer people around to eat her cooking.
And thanks. The airport still got destroyed, but that just happens sometimes when robots attack, I guess.
- L.
PS: Heard you got a pilot?