text; un: deathweaver

[respired]

[ Someone's having a good time in solitary. ]

I can feel it calling to me. Byfrost. I must find it. I must have it again, soon.

The cell is quiet but it is loud it is too loud

Comments

text, @TARANTO

[heavyhitter]

want me to sing at you? i can be really fucking loud

[respired]

Would that not arouse suspicions

[heavyhitter]

play it in your head
and on my end, everyone's used to me being fucking obnoxious so no worries there

[respired]

sing for me then

[heavyhitter]

[ and so she does, without another word texted. she switches to audio and falls right into it.

It's an old song to her, soothing and familiar, one she used to sing when things got rough or people had money she could coax out of their hands with a performance, whichever happened first. This isn't one of her lively street corner songs, though. This one's slow and steady, nostalgic and a little mournful. She carries it with a practiced ease in a low and smokey voice. It's Italian, of course, although the translator passes along words about long summer days finally drawing to a close and purpling evenings growing darker, with just fond memories for company.

It's a long one, too. Hopefully he's got ten minutes or so to spare. ]

[respired]

[ Koltira has an eternity to spare, and more than that when it comes to Ramir. He listens to the song, focusing intently on the words, the cadence of her voice, the lilting roll of this language that's both foreign and (due to the translation) familiar. ]

It is beautiful, Ramir