[It is only a child, but it's vast. It hears Marsh - Iris' bus, at least, recognises him, remembers that Iris loves him, and does her best to modulate the other ship's shrill desolation.
Marsh is not its person, and at first it feels as though he might only be about to make it worse: there's a rise in pitch, a sort of escalation of the tantrum now it can recognise that someone hears it, is reaching.
And then it quiets: not completely, the jagged absence of the person its life entwines with is too big and terrible, but it holds onto Marsh, breathing in his brass, and the volume and sharpness of its grief seem to decrease.
Bianca is still on the floor, still clutching tightly to Iris' dogs, and when she raises her eyes to him again there are tears running down her cheeks.]
[spam]
Marsh is not its person, and at first it feels as though he might only be about to make it worse: there's a rise in pitch, a sort of escalation of the tantrum now it can recognise that someone hears it, is reaching.
And then it quiets: not completely, the jagged absence of the person its life entwines with is too big and terrible, but it holds onto Marsh, breathing in his brass, and the volume and sharpness of its grief seem to decrease.
Bianca is still on the floor, still clutching tightly to Iris' dogs, and when she raises her eyes to him again there are tears running down her cheeks.]
I need a drink.