i'm knee deep in it
She saw the pity flash in Marisol's eyes for just a moment and she felt reduced by another few inches. It made her want to do better, be better. Kinder to herself. Ismene closed her eyes for a moment and glanced back at the pages, assuring they were in the proper order. Realistically, she was good at this. She had near-perfect recall and neat, tight script. Filling a page came naturally to her, just as retelling the most popular stories by way of neat little trills on her piccolo interspersed between spoken words did. Even the dark, rude little ditties that she put together about some of the antics in the barracks and fumbles on the training fields were popular among the cadets. As long as she kept them entertained and laughing most of them overlooked her lack of physical prowess and didn't ask many questions; that was quite alright with her.
Self-deprecation had become her weapon. If Marisol disarmed her so expertly with just a glance, how would she defend herself? She would be strewn bare. "I might be small but I have needs," she quipped. "Not enough room for my wings. I think they underestimate me." When you hate yourself everyone knows it. You wear it like a stench, undetectable to your own nose because you're so filthy and mired in it, and then when you clear out a room and are left standing alone... you wonder why they've all fled from the unmistakable smell of self-loathing. You are given what you want, or what you believe that you deserve: the worst of everything. "But it's fine. I can squeeze," she laughed. Ismene could feel the lightness too, kindling between them. A small flame. Just a little bit of warmth.
She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth at Marisol's words. "I would never ask for special treatment. Let the tongue-lashings commence." It wouldn't feel right. The abuse of some of the ranked Halcyon felt deserved, even welcomed. It kept her sharp. They knew she was always writing, always composing - any officer that antagonized her could safely expect their name to appear in a new dirty rhyme to be hummed during drills. "I promise, I can take care of myself... there," she announced, arranging the papers finally on the table. Ismene gave them a final look before she eyed the empty space at Marisol's side. There was more warmth to be found there. The winds were blowing a chill through the library straight through the delicate glass of the window. Izzie gathered her courage, every last shred of it. "Do you mind if I...?" Without waiting for a response, she settled into the inviting space by her side. Oh. A giddy warmth raced up her spine to the tips of her ears. "Will you be visiting the grounds soon?" I haven't left yet and I miss you already.
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