[ the sigh is deep, but not melodramatic. an exhale of disappointment — not at fitz, not at the dead end, but at her own lack of usefulness. she knows, logically speaking, that there's no sense of anonymity. there's no hacking into a session or posing as someone else; the nanosecond verification is required, the gig is up and she's in over her head.
she feels, above all: utterly useless. dead weight. a smart man might toss her overboard in the hopes that others might live. ]
You're right. [ as loath as she is to admit it. ] I know.
[ her posture shifts, body sinking into the corner of the couch in defeat; a holoscreen is pulled up, but not with notes to view or add to. it's a game, futuristic tetris, the kind of game daisy back home would have called mind-numbing. the kind jemma might have said was refreshingly zen. ]
no subject
she feels, above all: utterly useless. dead weight. a smart man might toss her overboard in the hopes that others might live. ]
You're right. [ as loath as she is to admit it. ] I know.
[ her posture shifts, body sinking into the corner of the couch in defeat; a holoscreen is pulled up, but not with notes to view or add to. it's a game, futuristic tetris, the kind of game daisy back home would have called mind-numbing. the kind jemma might have said was refreshingly zen. ]
Sorry for interrupting your pow-wow.