(Untitled)

[tends_to_panic]

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[i_flynomore]

Lynette knocks on his door a few minutes later, very quietly. "Ser? I brought your lunch."

Her hair is getting long again; she's made a mental note to ask Childermass to help her cut it like before. She looks a lot the same as always, freckly and quiet and stained with grease. But her eyes are still full of trouble and fear and most of all detachment--not from reality, not from the situation, but from everything--like her whole self is a ship that can't find port and is wandering lost in space, floating indeterminately among the stars.

[plastic_loyalty]

Grant comes up the corridor from the library, still stocking-footed, a stack of texts in his arms. He's still reading the book balanced open on top of the pile, intent as he walks.

"Lynette," he says, acknowledgement, when he gets to the door and registers her presence.

Then, "Justin's lunch?"

[tends_to_panic]

Justin himself is somewhat nonplussed. He blinks at both of them for a second before he gets up. "There's no need to do that, Lynette. But thank you. Do you want to come in for a bit?"

[i_flynomore]

She looks uncertain. "If you want, ser."