Mask or Menace ☂ IC Phone Post

[numberthree]

INBOX Voice | Text | Call | Video | Surprise Me A flat computer automated voice comes on and states in monotone: "This is the voicemail box for Allison Hargreeves. Leave a message at the beep."

Luther

Diego

Klaus

Five

Ben

Vanya

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[numberthree]

[ It's hard to know what to tell people here sometimes. The same as home.

How they were trained to withstand exhaustion, and deprivation, and even torture, as though they were things to slide off the shoulders of children as easily as sunny blue skies and screaming crowds of fans. How they know they need rest, but there's a heightened key that puts everyone more into mission-mode with Klaus gone than anything that would lead to true rest. They'd all be more ready to run out, guns blazing, at a sighting of him, at this moment, than to bed down quietly. Peacibly. Logically.

Luther, Diego, herself, especially. And Ben --

There's the barest glance toward Luther (leaning back on the couch, not exactly ignoring that she's occupied now, but patiently, quietly, waiting her out) and she knows all too well how impossible it is to sleep when you're suddenly trying to do it on top of the loss of the person you are closest to in the world. She can't imagine Ben is sleeping at all, even if he is curled up in his bed. ]


I'm sure we will, and he'll be glad to know that. I know he's really liked working there.

[anathemic]

[ Anathema stares at that last message, tinkers with her response for a while, trying to find the right words that won't just sound like trite condolences or empty sympathy. There's more she wants to ask, more she wants to find out about this family, the sister, but—

It isn't the time. ]

Let me know if you do hear anything. When you can, of course.