The Nightingale
She/her
Twenty four
November 11
Slateport
Heterosexual
Assistant
executive
Defiance in her flesh, her blood, her bones; written on her soul
1 day late
POSTED ON Feb 12, 2020 10:01:54 GMT
[attr="class","isratalk"] "Cacnea." frankly, by now, she doesn't need to say the whole phrase for him to understand what she means. It's been almost like a running joke (even if only on her part) for far too long. He should expect no less making a remark like that, in part because coming from him Isra can't tell if it's a good or a bad thing. She errs on the side of pessimism and decides he was being an ass. Isra pauses, eyes moving to the papers on her desk. She flits through them for a moment, assuming that they will likely contain the information to fill in the gaps. "So it was an utter disaster then?" she can only assume that is why he wants her believing the reports only. She's not stupid enough to actually do so. She doesn't trust the paperwork to not spin a tale of its own anyway. Isn't that how such things always worked? Even if it contained certain truths to a degree nothing of the sort what ever really trustworthy. The world was built on lies. She raises a brow at his request, not the first odd one and doubtfully the last but it catches her attention more than the over night raid on one of their cities nonetheless. "Water samples?" of all things, it seems to out of place and she can't help but prod him about it. "Why water samples from that long ago?"Isra turns away from her papers for the moment, eyes on him with furrowed brows. The likelihood of getting an actual answer is dependent on the reasoning and how up for talking about something other than the league's utter failure the man is. She asks anyway, because frankly it's far more intriguing right now. FERNANDO SILPH[newclass=.isratalk b]color: #8e4e5d;[/newclass]
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