The house rings with silence after Argus and the others leave. Not a silence like the ones after Hannibal's big fancy dinners in Boston, after even the catering staff were gone for the night, but something a little warier. A silence like a held breath.
Things've changed again.
Things're still changing, Triss admits to herself as she hobbles up the stairs to shower. Hannibal wouldn't let her help with the teacups, and even though she knows she's tired and sore and clumsier than usual it still stings a little.
But she is so, so tired. Everything's throbbing by the time she reaches the landing; her hands, her legs, her knee, even a weird new rawness under her skin. Triss wonders if maybe that's why Argus said they'd have to wait to test her colors against his sounds, if he knew the magic was starting to hurt. Ruth had agreed that she'd had a very long day even though it's only noon, and even Danae nodded. Triss just wishes they'd said why.
The realization that she's got a lot to learn, and she's never been a smart student anyway, hits as she's unwinding the bandages from her hands. What if she's too stupid to do this Very Important Thing? This thing that's dangerous to others and makes her a big fat target? She's only any good if she can get it under control, but what if she just can't learn how?
If she weren't so tired and wrung out, if her eyes weren't already puffy and itchy from crying, if her head didn't feel like a balloon full of pudding, she'd probably freak out again. But three meltdowns in one day is all her tiny body can process, so instead she coils the gauze up into two little rolls, rips the bandages off her legs, and curls up on the shower floor under the spray. Eventually the steam starts to smell less like a swamp, and she works up the energy to reach for soap.
She can't stop thinking, though. Like, how come the other Allomancers didn't stick around to talk to Hannibal? Adults love sitting up talking after the kids go to bed, even if it's only the middle of the afternoon. It's their favorite thing. Did they not want to talk to him? Were they afraid of what he'd ask? How secret are their secrets and are they gonna ask her to keep secrets from him too? She's got a couple, but it's stuff she decided she didn't wanna talk about.
They better not ask her to take sides. She'll have to tell them so, even if they don't like it. Ruth will probably understand - Ruth was the one who insisted on looping her family in on the weirdness.
But Ruth was also, unquestionably, the scariest person in the room when things looked like they were gonna go bad.
Triss chews that over as she dries off and climbs into a long t-shirt covered in cartoon bees. Danae killed the kelpie and got her away, but she stepped back and let Ruth stare Hannibal down. That is. Something. A little thrill of remembered fear shimmies up her spine as she dries her hair and tries to pinpoint what everybody else was doing while she sat there 100% sure somebody was gonna murder Hannibal's entire face.
Was he...kind of happy about it?
There are many shades of happy-Hannibal, each harder to detect than the last and all of them brought on by really, really weird stuff. Triss kinda doesn't even want to try and figure them out, she's got too many other things to sort out right now, but why would he wanna pick a fight with people he already thought had kelpie-murdering powers?
She's halfway down the stairs already, clumping awkwardly with her sore knee. The sounds of running water and clinking dishes have faded away, but Hannibal's still in the kitchen, collecting the scattered (magic) books. Triss leans against the doorway and stares at them for a second, remembering the vivid colors, before she blurts:
"What'd you call them before? When you were tryin'ta make 'em mad on purpose? Was it something bad?"
Obviously it was, but how bad? N-word levels of bad? Because, Hannibal, aside from setting off a bomb that frightened her as much as it offended them, you can't use anybody's N-word..
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2016-07-20 07:14 am (UTC)Things've changed again.
Things're still changing, Triss admits to herself as she hobbles up the stairs to shower. Hannibal wouldn't let her help with the teacups, and even though she knows she's tired and sore and clumsier than usual it still stings a little.
But she is so, so tired. Everything's throbbing by the time she reaches the landing; her hands, her legs, her knee, even a weird new rawness under her skin. Triss wonders if maybe that's why Argus said they'd have to wait to test her colors against his sounds, if he knew the magic was starting to hurt. Ruth had agreed that she'd had a very long day even though it's only noon, and even Danae nodded. Triss just wishes they'd said why.
The realization that she's got a lot to learn, and she's never been a smart student anyway, hits as she's unwinding the bandages from her hands. What if she's too stupid to do this Very Important Thing? This thing that's dangerous to others and makes her a big fat target? She's only any good if she can get it under control, but what if she just can't learn how?
If she weren't so tired and wrung out, if her eyes weren't already puffy and itchy from crying, if her head didn't feel like a balloon full of pudding, she'd probably freak out again. But three meltdowns in one day is all her tiny body can process, so instead she coils the gauze up into two little rolls, rips the bandages off her legs, and curls up on the shower floor under the spray. Eventually the steam starts to smell less like a swamp, and she works up the energy to reach for soap.
She can't stop thinking, though. Like, how come the other Allomancers didn't stick around to talk to Hannibal? Adults love sitting up talking after the kids go to bed, even if it's only the middle of the afternoon. It's their favorite thing. Did they not want to talk to him? Were they afraid of what he'd ask? How secret are their secrets and are they gonna ask her to keep secrets from him too? She's got a couple, but it's stuff she decided she didn't wanna talk about.
They better not ask her to take sides. She'll have to tell them so, even if they don't like it. Ruth will probably understand - Ruth was the one who insisted on looping her family in on the weirdness.
But Ruth was also, unquestionably, the scariest person in the room when things looked like they were gonna go bad.
Triss chews that over as she dries off and climbs into a long t-shirt covered in cartoon bees. Danae killed the kelpie and got her away, but she stepped back and let Ruth stare Hannibal down. That is. Something. A little thrill of remembered fear shimmies up her spine as she dries her hair and tries to pinpoint what everybody else was doing while she sat there 100% sure somebody was gonna murder Hannibal's entire face.
Was he...kind of happy about it?
There are many shades of happy-Hannibal, each harder to detect than the last and all of them brought on by really, really weird stuff. Triss kinda doesn't even want to try and figure them out, she's got too many other things to sort out right now, but why would he wanna pick a fight with people he already thought had kelpie-murdering powers?
She's halfway down the stairs already, clumping awkwardly with her sore knee. The sounds of running water and clinking dishes have faded away, but Hannibal's still in the kitchen, collecting the scattered (magic) books. Triss leans against the doorway and stares at them for a second, remembering the vivid colors, before she blurts:
"What'd you call them before? When you were tryin'ta make 'em mad on purpose? Was it something bad?"
Obviously it was, but how bad? N-word levels of bad? Because, Hannibal, aside from setting off a bomb that frightened her as much as it offended them, you can't use anybody's N-word..