IC Contact

[peacefulwinter]

Hi, this is Winter Tsukuyomi. I can't get to my phone now; I'm probably out working at the village, and I don't get great reception. If you need something, please leave a message or send me an e-mail, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. If it's urgent, please use the network, which I CAN access, or find someone who can. Thanks! (beep)

[Contact modes: phone (voice), voicemail, SMS (text/image), e-mail, physical mail, Skype (text/voice/video), network (text/voice/video, typically via phone or Kindle)]
All non-network modes checked infrequently.

Comments

( action → text )

[argents]

[ He doesn't get the voicemail until his first morning class is over. Needless to say, the night had been a sleepless one. All those things he'd felt compelled to send out into the world kept circling in his mind, despite the fact that there was so much about it that he didn't understand. Banagher had written it to himself in no uncertain terms — it didn't matter what he understood. Trust these people, and do it for them. Or he'd regret it, and let every last one of them down. As he laid awake, trying to grasp that piece of him where those feelings and thoughts and wishes had come from, all he'd come up with was hazy recollections. The next morning, when he'd dragged himself awake, part of him doesn't believe it's not just a dream. There's nothing on his phone to contradict it, but as he glances over at his desk, and the pile of papers there, things he'd spent hours writing down, following, sharing... no, it was real.

What part of it, he doesn't know. But it's real, plain as the ordinary daybreak gleaming outside his window, indistinguishable from any other.

So when he gets out of classes that morning and goes to check his voicemail as he descends the steps to LCU's courtyard, Winter being on the other end stops him cold. No matter what he expected from that reality, this wasn't it. She understood what he'd meant. Whoever that other one was, now slumbering inside of him. There was something that she recognized when he couldn't, and immediately, he's both stunned and horribly curious. But he can't ask, because she's not really there. His fingers tighten around his phone on reflex, and the noise of the world drains out. People around him dim, along with the dry summer breeze, hot with early morning sunshine.

He does the next best thing he can, and he listens. Even without his gifts, he hears the thickness in her voice that betrays the strength of her words. Banagher will never know what lead up to that phonecall. Why she'd cried at all, or tried to hide it, and what kind of strength it took to simply pick up and talk to him. Everything that he'd shared with her, and everything that connected him to this girl on that level that so clearly hurt her... was gone.

Briefly, he's frustrated at the goodbye he'd written himself. Briefly, hypocritically, he's almost not ready to accept it. Instead, she laughs, making him feel light and ache all over at the same time. There was a world outside of his reach, and if not for Winter, he'd probably lose it forever. He owes her twice over, now. Keep laughing, keep walking, keep reaching...

As the message ends and he lowers his phone to send a text, he wonders what it is that he did to earn a friend like her. ]

I'll be right here, whenever you get back.