i want a sky without a ceiling. [andrew/carly]

She's sitting by the fireplace, making a tally of their supplies and finances in her spellbook, when Andrew beacons for her to leave the confides of her own mind. She blinks, staring up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. "Hm?" She looks down to see several pages worth of proof that she's been dissociating. Glancing to the nearest window, she can't miss signs that time has been passing her by. She's grateful that he thought to check on her. "Sorry. Hello to you, too."

Rising from her seat, she returns the notebook to her bag, giving him her full attention. "I'm itching to go explore that river we found," he starts, and she nods in agreement as he speaks. It's the correct line of thinking, after all. The arena's main water source is bound to be a critical zone, and the resources there are sure to prove worthwhile. "Wanna come with?" Then he goes and says that, and she freezes, caught off guard. Gently, mildly and elatedly surprised. She scolds herself in her mind, reaching to adjust her wizard's hat to distract from her hesitation to respond and the stupid blush that settles across her cheeks. He smiles at her, and it's like all her barriers start to glitch.

It's not easy for her to be soft with people, always at the ready to nag and instruct and force herself into roles of leadership rather than depending on teamwork. And if she's being honest, it's terribly sad that after seventeen years of living, she can't really name any true friends other than Morty and the two allies she's met during her stay here. She's holding Aneesa's hand in a memory, and then she's in the tavern, she hates that she can't remember the feel of her best friend's palm in her hers. Not anymore, not two years after the funeral.

If you ask her, she's aware that she's not the kind of person that people want to be around, but rather the kind of person that's comfortable stepping to the front. She's difficult, she gets it, and her intensity can get the better of her. But she's not used to knowing what to do when someone rushes to catch up to her, who doesn't seem annoyed with or intimidated by her at all. He gets under her skin, makes her struggle to close the gap between her softness and the hardness she's trying to conjure to survive. By her deduction, no victor ever made it home by listening to their heart. Over his shoulder, she looks at the blood on the floor again. "We could get there, look around, and be back inside an hour easy."

She doesn't want to be alone with herself right now, and he's good company.

More than that, she doesn't know how to exist in this room without seeing the evidence of how destructive she is. It feels hard to breathe.

"Okay, you've convinced me. I'm happy to go." She chews the inside of her cheek, furrowing her brow as she hears the stiffness of her own voice. He deserves better than that. The sunlight rests on one side of her face, the firelight casting shadows on the other. Her eyes meet his. "I mean, I'd love to. Thank you for thinking of me."

Rushing to the door, she stops to raise an eyebrow at him, boots hesitating on the threshold. "Would you like to lead the way?"