[It's not the most salient point to be making, but the first thing Toko's aware of is the heft of her body. The gap's closed in height but not completely, and youth hasn't hindered how soundly the muscle is packed on. As she steps free of the shower she becomes aware of a weight between herafas;akl;jflkjwqefr
Okay um. After an uncomfortably firm rubbing and disposal of the towel, he — she clothes herself in unforgiving spandex. Uh...
Moving along! The facility is most definitely state of the art. Some factoid nags at the back of her mind, an anecdote delivered in a frat boy bray. The details are beyond her but it cements how solid it all feels underfoot. It's right. He belongs here, and by proxy so does she.
That still doesn't prepare her for the burst of confetti. She's even dropped into a combat stance. No need for that. It's just a birthday.
Their birthday? Toko blinks as Rex does, gaze darting where his goes. Her shock is more a mirror of his own. She, too, can't remember ever coming upon a celebration like this. No one would dare throw her a party, much less invite her to one. She doesn't know these people at all, and yet they pull at her. Their smiles are comely (and triplicated: if Toko could manifest control to do a double take at those girls, she would) and warm, and genuine. That's the real kicker. They're happy to see him, happy to do this for him.
And when the vision of loveliness steps into view, all the others pale into paper cutouts. She's heavenly. Red hair and pert lips, a sweet rasp and a wry wit. And she loves him.
She loves him she loves him she loves him.
And they never did.
Her impressions are only fleeting, intangible things, but they're unmistakable shapes. Mother and Father. The tears come quick and they're bending at the knees as one. His pain bleeds into hers, and she's reminded of the cold corner of the closet she'd sleep in when they locked her up overnight, the sting of a slap, the groan of her hungry belly. Even if the notes are different they share too many of the same beats. Enough that a genuine and sweet show of support can break him down on the spot.
She can't stop crying. And not just because he can't. It's just a twist of the knife. That old adage is bullshit. Time doesn't heal everything. It just lets you forget for longer stretches.
1/2 live your best life Icki
Okay um. After an uncomfortably firm rubbing and disposal of the towel, he — she clothes herself in unforgiving spandex. Uh...
Moving along! The facility is most definitely state of the art. Some factoid nags at the back of her mind, an anecdote delivered in a frat boy bray. The details are beyond her but it cements how solid it all feels underfoot. It's right. He belongs here, and by proxy so does she.
That still doesn't prepare her for the burst of confetti. She's even dropped into a combat stance. No need for that. It's just a birthday.
Their birthday? Toko blinks as Rex does, gaze darting where his goes. Her shock is more a mirror of his own. She, too, can't remember ever coming upon a celebration like this. No one would dare throw her a party, much less invite her to one. She doesn't know these people at all, and yet they pull at her. Their smiles are comely (and triplicated: if Toko could manifest control to do a double take at those girls, she would) and warm, and genuine. That's the real kicker. They're happy to see him, happy to do this for him.
And when the vision of loveliness steps into view, all the others pale into paper cutouts. She's heavenly. Red hair and pert lips, a sweet rasp and a wry wit. And she loves him.
She loves him she loves him she loves him.
And they never did.
Her impressions are only fleeting, intangible things, but they're unmistakable shapes. Mother and Father. The tears come quick and they're bending at the knees as one. His pain bleeds into hers, and she's reminded of the cold corner of the closet she'd sleep in when they locked her up overnight, the sting of a slap, the groan of her hungry belly. Even if the notes are different they share too many of the same beats. Enough that a genuine and sweet show of support can break him down on the spot.
She can't stop crying. And not just because he can't. It's just a twist of the knife. That old adage is bullshit. Time doesn't heal everything. It just lets you forget for longer stretches.
And on the other half of the grasp?]