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Don't cast aspersions on my asparagus.
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Kizi was not exactly fluent in sign language.

Maybe that was self-deprecation, false modesty. She understood most of what Kimiko was trying to communicate. But she knew the basics. There was no point in denying that. Denying that much would take self-effacing to the point of dishonesty.

She knew sign language pretty well, if she was to be completely honest. Not to the point of fluency or conversational prowess, but enough to get the gist. Had learned some of them from context, from seeing how Clarice and Kimiko communicated. Some from independent study. Linguistically, sign language was fascinating. It served as a brilliant case study for how linguists could help make the world a better place. The rest had been preparation, of sorts, for if Olabode's hearing deteriorated any further.

So Kizi largely understood what Kimiko was saying. There were two gaps that Kiziah couldn't fill in. 'Clarice was...' 'I was...' She didn't know what words went there. She could guess there were negative emotional states, from the context. In a way, it was a blessing she'd never had to learn whatever words they were before this point.

The first word was probably crying, Kizi guessed, when Kimiko repeated the motions.

What was more, was that Kizi believed Kimiko.

Kimiko's words had been addressed at Clarice predominantly, of course, but Kimiko would hopefully appreciate someone else in her corner. She stepped out from behind Clarice, and pulled out a tissue from her pocket. Laughably insufficient for the mess that was there. Kizi was under no illusions as to what it was. Bradley's blood, most likely. He had been Kim's most recent kill. "Do you...need a bit of help?"
V6 peeps:
Kiziah Saraki
Bradley Floyd
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Why We Fight · The Storehouse