"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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Maybe she wasn't right. Didn't feel so right. She'd probably lost the privilege to be in the right at some point though, so throw one more thing into the overflowing toilet bowl that was the things slipping away from her that night. Silver lining, she lost privilege ranks when it came to scoring oppression points. Funny, as the oppressor apparent.

But yeah, Irene supposed everything Noah had said so cleanly made logical sense.

He was a good kid. Go figure. Irene wondered if that had anything to do with the complexionity of her emotions concerning him. To be fair, she wondered about a lot of things. Like what she was supposed to be doing now. There wasn't much that came to mind, at some point she'd seemingly lost that as well. She took several seconds to dully stutter, because failing words was now her new habit. Breath, choke on own breath, repeat. Ad infinity, or however that Latin went.

"Uh, well... Maybe...? If you want to go back to the dance you totes should. See other friends... Or. Or if you want to go home, same. I, uh. I can get- get my mom to pick me up. Hang out with other friends for a bit while I wait." Reliable service in a pinch, Clara Djezari. Call Irene Chrysler, because she needed a bailout. Not that she really understood the significance of that reference. Just breezing through the living room, hearing names on the news...

Irene's now completely dry and clear eyes began to wander. Gravity that Noah carried as the one who was tall and speaking well Irene couldn't help but meander. She got the sense that she should try to rub off some of the crusts that dried tears had formed in the roots of her lashes, but she refused the call for now.
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Dying To See How This One Ends · At the Dance