Kobra tells it he's repeating the weather report. No, like other people are reading the weather report. Like those in Battery City say it, bored and lacking. She sits with her hands on her knees and her feet tucked under her. He slouches, and she was taught to never do that, but she was taught a lot of things, and none of them were the truth until now.
Fun tells it with long drawn out pauses and voices as spooky as he can make them. He gets quiet--barely even whispering--then suddenly shouts. He pokes her in the side randomly. He makes her jump and laugh and be too loud, and later, when she can't sleep and it's his turn to keep watch, he pins a button on her coat for luck. He teaches her how to shoot a gun, and sometimes, when dawn is crawling up and the dust is covering their boots, his mouth twists down and she holds onto his hand so he won't be afraid.
Jet teaches her to hack the machines. He teaches her to read maps, and tell directions, and how to know she's still got too far too go to stop. The last one is a trick, because the answer is always, and she can never stop. When he's telling the story, he's telling her why. Jet tells it like an explanation, and a reason--like something that will give her purpose. He pretends that the letters she sends to her mom will get there someday, and they both know it's the biggest lie he's ever told.
Party--Gerard, he says, like real names aren't secrets and passwords and ways to tell the truth--he always starts it with once upon a time. He tells the story like a fairytale, like something far, far away and long, long ago. She wears his mask and he spins tales into something grand and wonderful, like daydreams of princes and happily ever after, and things she can barely remember now. He kisses her forehead, like her mother used to, and the way it echos inside her makes her think she's probably empty. "Girl," he says, when she starts to cry behind the mask, "Girl, one day, you're gonna fall in love."
It doesn't matter how it's told, not really, it's always the same story. It's always hers. It's always the truth.
I give uuuup. /o\
Kobra tells it he's repeating the weather report. No, like other people are reading the weather report. Like those in Battery City say it, bored and lacking. She sits with her hands on her knees and her feet tucked under her. He slouches, and she was taught to never do that, but she was taught a lot of things, and none of them were the truth until now.
Fun tells it with long drawn out pauses and voices as spooky as he can make them. He gets quiet--barely even whispering--then suddenly shouts. He pokes her in the side randomly. He makes her jump and laugh and be too loud, and later, when she can't sleep and it's his turn to keep watch, he pins a button on her coat for luck. He teaches her how to shoot a gun, and sometimes, when dawn is crawling up and the dust is covering their boots, his mouth twists down and she holds onto his hand so he won't be afraid.
Jet teaches her to hack the machines. He teaches her to read maps, and tell directions, and how to know she's still got too far too go to stop. The last one is a trick, because the answer is always, and she can never stop. When he's telling the story, he's telling her why. Jet tells it like an explanation, and a reason--like something that will give her purpose. He pretends that the letters she sends to her mom will get there someday, and they both know it's the biggest lie he's ever told.
Party--Gerard, he says, like real names aren't secrets and passwords and ways to tell the truth--he always starts it with once upon a time. He tells the story like a fairytale, like something far, far away and long, long ago. She wears his mask and he spins tales into something grand and wonderful, like daydreams of princes and happily ever after, and things she can barely remember now. He kisses her forehead, like her mother used to, and the way it echos inside her makes her think she's probably empty. "Girl," he says, when she starts to cry behind the mask, "Girl, one day, you're gonna fall in love."
It doesn't matter how it's told, not really, it's always the same story. It's always hers. It's always the truth.