i think they're better from afar. ebony & jo.

[[ retro gm ] angel lí ✨]

And here it is again, that shaking, that gasping for air - no, don't breathe, don't breathe it in, can't breathe, what if I get sick. What if Sybil gets sick. What if Eb gets sick. What if I get sick oh no oh no am I sick already? I'm sick already aren't I. I feel nauseous. I feel like I'm going to throw up. That's a symptom, right? Right? I've washed my hands fourteen times today and not left my quarters in days but it lingers right? Air conditioning, an airborn virus, someone was saying something about petals but that can't be right. I'm sick, right? I'm sick, I'm sick, I'm going to die, we're all going to die-

"Eb," her name is just a whisper in-between a gasp. Try again, try again - no, what if you make her sick. What if you've made them all sick, "Eb- Ebony!" what if-

And I am shaking, on the floor, unable to sit still, unable to stand, so I curl into myself and bite my fingers hard and try not to think of the fact my siblings and I are trapped in the middle of a deadly plague.

Oh no.

"Oh no."

Oh no no no no no no no-

Who am I kidding,

"EBONY!"

it's all I can think about.

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

— ebony —

She's storming out of Sybil's room, into her grand plan to rescue her brother / into her undeniable urge to always know at all times that her people are safe — when she hears the shouting. Headstrong as ever, protective down to the very last fiber of herself, she doesn't hesitate to speed down the halls in pursuit of her little sister's voice.

The only reason she doesn't shout in return is because, in some quiet rational place in the back of her mind that briefly flickers in and out of existence, she's aware that drawing too much attention to herself in unwise. She's not supposed to be out of her room right now; not supposed to be focused on anyone else's wellbeing than her own. But maybe that's why she's running. To be left alone with herself seems like a terribly unfair punishment.

These last few weeks, looking in the mirror only makes her want to shatter the glass with her fist. Damn the shards in her skin.

When she finally reaches the room, the cage holding Jo inside, she throws her full weight against the door. A hard, brutal shove fit to knock someone off their feet. She does everything now with that much force, that much strength, that much rage. One day, she might look down at her gloved hands and see herself on fire. Not today. "Jo," she says the name almost breathlessly when she breaks through, rushing to her sister's side.

"Hey, look at me. I'm right here." In the span of a moment, she tucks away all of her fears and ambitions and tells them she'll be back soon. Crossing her legs as she lowers herself to the ground, face to face with Jo, little bird who can never quite catch herself on the wind. Ebony doesn't give a damn if she never finds the right breeze to soar. In her mind, always, her sister is capable of any feat. "I've got you."

One day, Joplin herself will know that.

"Tell me what your favorite event at the fair was. Every last detail, c'mon." Their hands clasp around each other like a promise to keep / to break. "I wanna know."

[[ retro gm ] angel lí ✨]

"I don't- I don't-" I don't I don't I don't I don't

"-want to- get you- sick."

Spit it out between gasps, you clutch your sisters wrists in your hands a little too tightly. But Ebony is corporeal, her presence a constant. You just have to remind yourself that she's here. She's alive. She's fine.

For now.

You've memorised every single symptom. Ebony slept well last night - you snuck in to check on her every other hour. A lack of sleep does this to you, causes your threads to come loose. But you had to check that they were okay. You had to make sure your sisters were still breathing. Nobody's been ill. Nobody's complained of nausea, fever, stomach aches. Her pulse is normal underneath your fingertips whilst yours races, blood pumping.

"Hey, look at me. I'm right here."

And you do. Her pupils are normal, normal - if not concerned, but that's normal. Ebony's either scowling or sympathetic, always the latter with you. Sorry, you want to gasp. Sorry, sorry- "sorry", and then, breathe. "Okay."

She's fine. You're - well, you're not fine. But you will be, you will be, your thoughts race and Ebony asks you to concentrate on something. Anything.

"The-" gasp, breathe, try again. In, and out, slowly. Four seconds in, hold, two, four seconds out, hold, two. Try again. "The-"

In, one, two, three, four. Hold, two, Out, two, three, four. Try again. Slow it down. One thing at a time. Ebony. Not sick. Ebony. Here. In your hands. You're in hers. You're okay. She's here.

And you're back at the fair, quiet little thing - terribly curious, wide-eyed and in-awe. "The potato guns," smile a little, skitter through the strangeness in your chest. "Remember that girl with the rainbow one? It h- it had a speaker, ha..."

Splatter, cheers, silly. Fun. And you allowed yourself laugh at something silly for the first time in a long time.

But most importantly Ebony was there, by your side, like always.

Like now. And you were okay.

You'll be okay.

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

— ebony —

"My last checkup, the nurse told me she'd never heard of a better immune system than mine." Only ever to Jo, Ebony tells white sugar lies. Harmless little things only meant to comfort, to protect, to cruelly tape themselves over all the terrible things that could easily upset the younger girl. Robbing her of her given right to break.

But for as good of a sister as Ebony might seem to be, she knows herself deeply. Knows just how fondly she feels about being needed; knows how much of herself she has to pour into every given situation. It's a gut instinct. In the face of conflict, the only thing she knows to do is to jump to her feet and get straight into the action. And yet you could almost mistake her for another person in this light; soft smile, soft words, nodding along with her sister's recounting of the potato gun competition. Jo doesn't realize that Ebony ditched that day, that she spent what could be her last few hours of functional peace in an underground fight club. The scars on her knuckles ache in sync with her heartbeat.

She can't bring herself to tell Jo otherwise.

"Rainbow is the best color. I mean, it's pretty much all of them, so what's not to love?" There are so many more shades than that. The colors are staining everything. She tries to see through the haze.

"When we get home, me and you, let's build our own."