Charlotte glanced around the room impassively, her eyes lingering on the Pheobe's Fist blueprints strewn haphazardly across the area. This...gave her pause, the woman simply staring at the intricate designs before her.
"...She...still plans on building that?" Charlotte thought. She glanced around for a few moments, before gingerly scooping the blueprints she could find into a neat pile, attempting to organize them in what she thought was the correct order, based moreso on her knowledge of geometry than any technical knowledge she had. She wasn't sure...why, she was doing this, outside of such haphazard organization annoying her. In truth, she didn't care...or at least...tried to convince herself she didn't care, about the girl, much less her room.
"...Alright...i'll just...return this..." She thought. After placing the pile of blueprints onto a desk, she took the cigarette box out of her pocket, placing it next to the bed. She had only come here to return the gift, not wanting to linger any longer than she already had. As she turned to leave, however, her eyes met with the barrel of the revolver, the woman's body visibly stiffening as she stared at the weapon.
"....." Charlotte stared down at the weapon, an indescribable feeling of dread creeping into the apathy within her mind.
"...Elis...?" Charlotte thought. Gingerly, she grabbed the weapon from the bed, examining it closely...
It was almost used. The fact was obvious, Charlotte's Spatial Awareness easily picked up the small bends in the inner mechanisms. Charlotte's hand began to tremble, the weapon shaking slightly in her grip as she stared down at it.
"...No..." Charlotte muttered.
"...No...no...no...no...no...no...no.." Charlotte repeated the words in her mind, the trembling in her hand continuing to increase. She remembered what happened after her loss of Phoebe, how she had pressed the barrel of her gun against her head, how her finger had brushed against the trigger.
"...****....****!" Charlotte said. She tossed the gun away from her, the weapon skittering across before landing with an abrupt thud against the wall. She continued to swear loudly, anger mixing in with her words as she glared down at the revolver, as if it was responsible for what had nearly happened. Her swear slowly began to die down, replaced with a strange, soft, whimper.
The woman was weeping. It was a restrained, quiet weep, the one a parent might do to prevent their children from waking...yet, the tears flowed nevertheless. She sat on Elis's bed, closing her eyes as the tears flowed down her cheeks, staining her dirty, white suit.
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