Voice; un: daisy

[hearstheblood]

[The transmission is technically a video - though throughout it all the screen remains unevenly black and rough-textured, as if a piece of fabric had been tossed across the lens of the camera. The voice that speaks is recognizably Daisy Tonner's, though there's a faint burr and growl to it, as if it had been run through a sound modifying program. Or something.]

All right. Suppose anyone with an opinion can chime in, but this is mostly for the Sanguis lot. Or anyone else who gets . . . like that. Bloodthirsty.

[It's such a crawlingly, hideously personal thing to ask. But if there was ever a place she might find people who could come close to understanding her own situation, this might be it. And she has to try.]

How do you get through it?

Comments

Video

[the_archivist]

What? it's a valid option. Better me than someone who doesn't deserve it.

[hearstheblood]

I'm not going back to-

[The Hunt, she almost says, then bites it back with an audible click of very sharp teeth. Talking about those things in a public forum feels wrong - even if she doesn't have a Section 31 hanging over her head anymore.]

- to that. I won't.

[the_archivist]

...right. You're right of course. Just- if there's anything I can do, let me know.

[hearstheblood]

[She leaves that for a few moments, quiet, ears flicking as she watches the dim screen of her device with Jon's contact front and center. Then, with a faint cant of her head.]

Do you mind if I stop by?

[the_archivist]

Of course not! Feel free.

Action

[hearstheblood]

[Daisy nods, then leans forward, ending the call with a poke of her nose. The third time in this shape, now, it comes more naturally to pick up her communicator band with her teeth, paw the door shut behind herself, and pad on up to Jon's flat. The fact that her mouth is full, though, does mean that she paws at the door rather than knocking, the faint scratch of nails loud in the quiet of the hall.]

Re: Action

[the_archivist]

[Jon hurries to the door to let in, Knowing who it is before he even opens it.]

Can I- uh, get you anything?

[hearstheblood]

A drink?

[She steps inside the flat, strides long and ground-eating, an echo of her human gait when she's particularly tense. She's not used to this, seeking out help rather than curling into the smallest space possible, waiting for the itch in her teeth to fade]

[the_archivist]

Sure.

[He heads into the kitchen and grabs a cup and then glances back. How opposable are those thumb-claws?

How badly is he likely to get mauled if he brings a bowl instead? He'll stick with the cup.

He fills it with water and heads back.]

Is this okay? I can make tea if you prefer