#𝗨𝗡𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗜𝗙𝗜𝗘𝗗 𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘: // is imagination the mother of truth

[lookedinfinite]

starter call | @chloevlinder

sometimes the novelty of being known is a curse. it would take a hundred guards to track her down in large castle: to navigate the halls enough to seek out even one of her hundreds of quiet spots. like seeking out every last spider in a great hall, maeve's very nature is that of a hidden thing. a hundred guards...  or a single,  stubborn woman.  she knows her by her steps alone,  eyes not raising from her book as she stays sat amongst the hay of stable's upper level,  "isn't this a spot a little below your station,  my lady?"  teasing comes lowly - as if she's not spent the past days avoiding too much time with chloe in effort to delay talks of new titles. 

[doctordonovan]

❝ I didn't say yes or no. ❞ | neal

her silence is no indication of much:   though she has had a lifetime of people misreading    &&    misinterpreting what it truly does say about her.  there is little about maeve that those around her have seemed content agreeing upon -   shyness often labelled as coldness,  silence labelled as a lack of things to say.  (   how many times have people seemed to think lack of interest in any competition is borne more from a lack of confidence rather than simply...  tiring of how world constantly demand she prove herself.  )  

it's fine,  to be misread,  when it is all that's ever happened.  @de2thletter has been busy after all  -   studying space,  studying the art there,  fitting in far too perfectly with the people for it to be as perfect as it appears.  so his reply is the first one to steal a real little smile,  amusement shining brightly on features as eyebrows rise despite how tone remains as casual as ever.  ❝ if it was no,  the first reply would have been 'what are you talking about'? ❞   yet she shrugs,  turning back to painting.  ❝ or just looking at me like I was mad.  plus you were also staring at the right spot of the painting to notice that's not meant to be there. ❞

[phdiism]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘: // tag dump: verses (2)

[lookedinfinite]

@formerfirstson continued from here

maeve was raised to know her intelligence - to know the value of it, the responsibility. they're not harsh standards she holds anyone else to: and she never was one to expect others to make allowances for her oddities. (when had they ever?) still she bit back a sigh, sharp teeth digging into her inner cheek. normal people language. it wasn't unfamiliar phrasing, it wasn't pleasant either. "it means the division of something into sections or categories. in this example, putting feelings in little boxes and then ignoring the boxes."

[doctordonovan]

❝ when was the last time you slept? ❞ | sam

she doesn't answer:   on,  in fact,  it's more a matter that she cannot answer  -   brunette truly has no idea when rest last came easily ( or at all ).  hiding it well comes from experience,  an artform perfected over lifetime,  less so a choice and much more simply a form of survival.  it does no good to linger on the bad beyond what can be learnt from  &&   truly,  maeve knows drowning in the thoughts that haunt won't fix anything at all.   so whilst nightmares are nothing new…  they're also something to them that scientist can't help but want to avoid.

it's not as if she can help how every night feels like slipping into coma again,  as if if her grip slips she will return to endless cold.

❝ what if I pinky promise I'm fine, @florietiae? ❞  it's much simpler to match his worry with a tease,  with the warmth little smile offers even through exhaustion.  soon.  she'll sleep soon enough.  ❝ maybe those horror stories from your upcoming memoir are keeping me up. ❞   even in joke,  it's not fair to pass the blame,  and maeve has no doubt he'll know how apology stains her sigh.  ❝ I promise.  I've just been caught up in lecturing and looking over the latest odd samples you popped over. ❞

[doctordonovan-a]

❝ i was supposed to die that night. ❞  

 reaction is almost visceral,     barely containing the urge to speak before mouth has chance to catch up with thoughts.    it would be too easy after all: to give into the instinct to cut in,    to correct him,    to dismiss his thoughts and fears as a moment of anxiety that shouldn't be preserved or acknowledged.    yet wasn't that the approach taken to her?     the few times where she'd ever gathered courage and made it verbal    -    where heart and soul were barely hidden under whatever casual seeming admission had finally slipped past the gilded barriers her lips formed.     no.    it'd be easy for her,     not him,     to simply tell him that he's wrong.

 ❝   does that mean you think you're done living?   ❞    she asks  @williambycrss​  instead,    gentle and somehow soft without tone ever changing much.    there is no pity,    no fussing or evident bursting at the seams,    yet there is concern in the way green eyes keep themselves to continuing simply tidying own little workspace.      ❝   joyce   -    your mother mentioned you like stories.   ❞     it's a different approach:    scientist has carefully listened to all joyce has told her    -   not simply about jane and impossible circumstances of past months.     to live has always been hard enough...      to die and have to resume a life meant for another version of one self,    experience certainly has told her,    is a different kind of torture all together.    ❝   are you a fan of a good plot twist?     or when the hero comes to a fork in the road and their destiny could go any way of multiple paths?   ❞

[lookedinfinite]

scientist knew the story well: her adoptive father had told it to her when she was only little, and it was the kind of thing she saw so much beauty in. a good story, after all, showed much more about people than even some history books. "very beautiful. as a teenager I was… quite besotted with reading about victorian flower languages. how they were used for different meanings, the silent messages that could be hidden in something so innocent."

"Forget me nots..." The android uttered almost wistfully as if taken by idle thought. "I read the legend behind their namesake. The knight that picked the flowers for his lover but fell in and swept away... tossing them to her and uttering his last words... forget me not." He smiled to himself, the curves of his lips precise but gentle. "Sorry, I'm sure you've heard it a thousand times. It's so sad, but... beautiful, I think."

[lookedinfinite]

cleaning a cut from @velven1th

her touches are always light, little more than a feather despite their natural precision. she's not a medical doctor - her interests far more grounded in other sides of the world - but she is too caring to have never taken the time to learn how to help the best she can. first aid classes had once been for a worst case scenario... these days they're just commonplace skills that are good for her to hold. her attention never seems to falter, kind but clever eyes studying far more than pink lips may ever truly admit.

"at some point, you're going to have to tell me something about what happened, you know." she remarks instead of a direct question, concern in her tone, putting down bloodied towel and moving to pick up antibiotic ointment. "this will sting, but then we're done getting you cleaned up."

[lookedinfinite]

"trust your instincts. when the chips are down, they’re all you have." from @quastari / arthur

her gut is a constant: the way instinct has kept her alive, kept her aware. young woman is a contradiction - the gentleness of her features, of her mannerisms,  even of her silence... yet how cleverness fills those doe eyes, always studying the world as if waiting for the next disaster. she's not blind to the universe and how things really seem to go. yet over, and over, brunette does her very best to keep on choosing to see the good even when she knows how likely it all is to end badly.

"the chips always seem to be down." it's a dry little joke, quiet under her voice, attention still on the papers she's carefully sorting through. if anything - she knows it's a flaw she's so often tried to ignore her gut in favour of trying to understand other's opinions. it's how she ended up engaged to bobby after all, isn't it? "careful, I'll think you're concerned about me."

[lookedinfinite]

@anunkindncss | continued from here

there was always beauty to be found: even if it sometimes took more effort to fully find it, to appreciate it properly. still low hum came to her as she made her way to roof, higher than any neighbour, higher too than several neighbouring building. she'd camped plenty for her phds - had adored the quiet, the space from rest of the world. and it wasn't as if she was the type to hesitate when it was a curious thing, chuckling as she slowly lowered herself to sit next to him, raising eyebrows at his remark. "I always think it's pretty, I'm not complaining. nothing wrong with a bit moon-watching. taking a crime-break?"

[lookedinfinite]

maeve is good at hiding herself. her emotions, her thoughts, her life. it's how she's always been, and in times like this she is almost grateful for that trauma. so her eyes return to book - voice as carefully, politely blank as ever no matter how dry tone remains. "why don't you find out? sounds like it would make a lovely fabric."

He's amused as he's always amused by lesser beings these days. "Shades can shift until they appear to be different in color. I know they argue what freedom tastes like, but what color could it be?" There's a hint he doesn't take the conversation seriously.

[lookedinfinite]

send "you're the prettiest thing i've ever seen." to see my muse's reaction from @florietiae / sam

her laugh can't hide blush, or the way for a few moments maeve can't quite bring herself to look at him. compliments are… still somewhat of a new thing for her, unexpected and foreign when they're not centered around her intelligence. instead she busies herself with pushing long brown locks behind her ears, trying to keep anxious fingers occupied.

"aren't you a charmer?" maeve ends up teasing in return, a way of acknowledging remark without worsening blush.

fingers end up smoothing short silver fabric again, playfully raising dark eyebrow at much taller man. "what do you think? will we fit right in?" it's hardly her sort of spot, though maeve has always been the curious kind, gently nudging his arm. 

[lookedinfinite]

send 💍 to propose to my muse! from @swrdarm

her hair is still wet: soaked, glued to her skin, a laugh still caught in her throat as she scrunches water from curls with towel. they barely made it back to her apartment before the thunder screaming across the sky outside - and yet certainly didn't avoid how every single cloud seemed to open at once. "next time you want a swim, may I suggest a pool instead of a picnic?" brunette jokes, heading round corner to try and spot girlfriend, certainly not one to consider date ruined.

just another memory, a funny story.

yet she freezes when she does enter living room: needing a moment to process other - to process what she's holding. oh. oh.

[lookedinfinite]

[ BACK ]:   sender rests a gentle hand against the receiver’s back, silently checking in on them. && " you wanna get out of here? i know a great coffee shop a few blocks away. " from @swrdarm

touch is so gentle she barely notices it, cracking through the ice that seems to make a home on her form whenever maeve gets lost within own thoughts. maybe that's a sign in itself - the fact that unlike the rest of the world, clara is beneath maeve's defences enough that her approach can be a surprise. still she turns enough to squeeze woman's arm, the offer her a quick curve of lips that doesn't reach distracted eyes. they're here. it's all fine. 

"I do like a coffee shop." maeve focuses on instead, playfully dragging it out, as if considering. "I suppose I trust you to know the sort of places I like... only just."

[lookedinfinite]

" do i look normal? i can't tell if i look normal. " from @centurie / ben

she doesn't focus on other instantly, taking a long few moments to entirely process the question. "well, you certainly don't sound normal." it's not harsh - if anything, more teasing, giving herself time to wrap her mind around it. there's no need to be a genius - no need for her smarts - to know full well this is going to need her attention. closing book and leaning back in chair, studying him for a long few moments.

"breathe. take a moment." advice comes gently, not quite answering for a few more seconds. "planning on telling me why you're so worried about 'normal'? because it's seeming quite... abnormal."

[lookedinfinite]

starter call | @unhalloweds / tyler

"are you hurt?" three words come tumbling from her lips with no hesitation, no pause for breath. she can breathe later - heart hammering in her chest, having to reach up to gently touch his face, to get him to turn it enough doe eyes can inspect the cut that marks it. things always seem to go wrong here, as if the laws of probability has an entirely new set of rules. "that looks painful." another three words, this time little more than a whisper, so full of worry that it threatens to choke brunette. "sit. I'll clean it up."