She's paranoid, equal parts paralyzed and petrified, but she's certainly not blind.
..Though a part of her does appreciate the distinction being made, is distantly saddened by the necessity for such clarification, it does not stop the slight dip of her brows in the briefest flicker of anger, even as Carolina's eyes don't move from Maine. It'd be a mistake on her part to lower her guard, with memories at their most raw, and it's not entirely clear whether she's listening to what York has to say.
There's nothing pained about Maine's movements, beyond the telltale signs of a man who shouldn't be off of bedrest and back on duty without his doctor's approval. Lela had greeted him, had done so with her usual enthusiasm for all living souls, and suffered no harm from such innocent behaviour. And there is no flickering, burning effigy blighting the air over one shoulder, pulling strings on a puppet who now lacked a voice to give warning. ]
..Lela.
[ Her voice is quieter, but no less firm; stance and gun remain where they are. The pink frootz cat remains rather drooped, glancing worried at the other Persons in the square. But she doesn't wait too long; she's been called to heel, and with a flick of her tail she's sprinting back up the steps and stopping by her Person's feet.
(Wash certainly can't say discipline hasn't been improved on since the last time he and Carolina were in the same space together.)
When her person still doesn't do anything, one cream paw lifts, gently nudging her leg, just below the knee. Colour doesn't return, but the action seems to to stir something behind her closed expression.
Then, there's a short, sharp nod for the man in white armor, Carolina at her most business-like and perfunctory. Her arm drops, gun lowered but not yet stowed away as she spins on her heel to walk (not run, not yet, not when they might see) back the way she came, fretting Spirit right behind her.
and apparently this was just a quick cameo WELP
She's paranoid, equal parts paralyzed and petrified, but she's certainly not blind.
..Though a part of her does appreciate the distinction being made, is distantly saddened by the necessity for such clarification, it does not stop the slight dip of her brows in the briefest flicker of anger, even as Carolina's eyes don't move from Maine. It'd be a mistake on her part to lower her guard, with memories at their most raw, and it's not entirely clear whether she's listening to what York has to say.
There's nothing pained about Maine's movements, beyond the telltale signs of a man who shouldn't be off of bedrest and back on duty without his doctor's approval. Lela had greeted him, had done so with her usual enthusiasm for all living souls, and suffered no harm from such innocent behaviour. And there is no flickering, burning effigy blighting the air over one shoulder, pulling strings on a puppet who now lacked a voice to give warning. ]
..Lela.
[ Her voice is quieter, but no less firm; stance and gun remain where they are. The pink frootz cat remains rather drooped, glancing worried at the other Persons in the square. But she doesn't wait too long; she's been called to heel, and with a flick of her tail she's sprinting back up the steps and stopping by her Person's feet.
(Wash certainly can't say discipline hasn't been improved on since the last time he and Carolina were in the same space together.)
When her person still doesn't do anything, one cream paw lifts, gently nudging her leg, just below the knee. Colour doesn't return, but the action seems to to stir something behind her closed expression.
Then, there's a short, sharp nod for the man in white armor, Carolina at her most business-like and perfunctory. Her arm drops, gun lowered but not yet stowed away as she spins on her heel to walk (not run, not yet, not when they might see) back the way she came, fretting Spirit right behind her.
Not the Meta. Just Maine.
That might be the worst news of all. ]