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[Hope's voice is clear and clipped.]

If you would like to leave a message, you may do so here. I can't promise to respond. I have many demands on my time, and this sort of thing is far down the list. Still, if you would like to, you may.

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( in all actuality, she knows this is probably a better request for Sorrow. But- well. At least Hope, in his own way, has been scoring some points for being reasonable with her?

So, she'd much rather divulge this request to him instead.

Really, she should have done this almost as soon as she arrived, months ago, when the timing lined up for Marc's birthday and their parents' deaths, but a month into life in the murdercave, when you still have hope of leaving is hardly the time to ask that. But it's nearly time for another anniversary. So- )

You got anything made with lavender here? ( The tone she asks this in is almost over-cultivated casual, too forced to be entirely natural, and asked over video because anything else seems inappropriate for this request. )

What is lavender? A flower?

[He vaguely thinks that might be right.]

( she nods. ) Purple. It's good for calming people. Has a relaxing smell. ( there's a few other uses she's heard about, but usually when people talk about lavender, they talk about how the scent is calming and relaxing.

It's not quite what she wants it for, but all the same. )

I don't have any of that. What do you need it for?

( she sucks on her teeth audibly. the reason is difficult to say, and would be even with people she trusts more than these gods. it's a private thing and the compulsion to dismiss that question is great.

she's also reasonably sure it wouldn't work.

sigh. alright. ) It's... a way of remembering people, I s'pose. ( it blossomed into that, anyway. from beginnings, in her adoptive parents' back garden, running through to try and find a way out and getting lost in their lavender plants, spending hours just sitting there and missing her real parents. to what it is now. a ritual where - in those months where she lost someone - she'll let the scent of lavender waft through her home. )

[He doesn't really understand - which probably isn't a surprise.]

Sorrow is better at plants than I am. Or perhaps it is the scent you are looking for, in particular?

( it is about the scent, but even if it weren't, she has her reasons for not going to sorrow. primarily that he'll be getting more than enough of her emotion without requiring it beforehand. )

Aye. Summat like- ( she clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth softly ) -a tea. Incense, maybe.

A tea would likely be easiest for me. I would not give it for free, however. Tell me of the moment in your life in which you were most hopeful. In detail, please. Relive it, if you can.

( that works. is her preference, in fact, so kate nods.

and stops.

UH.

UHHHH. the most hopeful... christ. that isn't an easy ask for tea. )

... Er.

( do you have anything easier?

no, wait, give her a minute. )

Maybe. When I first started my apprenticeship. ( there's a twinge of guilt in her heart that it's the honest answer - that it's not an answer that involves Marc, nothing from her childhood when they had all the potential and possibilities laid out in front of them. but after so long, such a long stretch of her life where there was nothing but waking up, gritting her teeth and trying to survive another day without him being killed or hurt or-

after all of that? the invite to work in Denmark had been a breath of fresh air, a light at the end of a long dark tunnel. the kind of thing that taints her memories of lavender-based teas with something nicer than simple mourning.

she wishes it wasn't true, wishes she had something about her brother that doesn't immediately fall into an abyss of bloody corpses and work she hated - something pure and untouched like wildflowers in an abandoned field. natural. beautiful. wishes that she were a good enough person to think of a moment of hope in her life that isn't, somewhat, built on his dead body and the mess of a city she left behind.

but it comes so easily once she thinks. once she remembers the stomach-wrenching pop of Carl's teleportation and the crisp, cold air of northern Denmark at sunrise. remembers waving Carl off and watching the day begin by herself, alone, in a place where anything could be possible. she remembers the hollering that came with Dagny finding her standing outside of the clinic first thing in the morning and saying Well, that's promising. At least you're punctual. she can't forget the swell in her chest as she listened to the list of things Dagny wanted her to learn and thinking this might just be it. This might be the first time I can really use my powers for something constructive.

she talks about it, aloud, in less detail, but it feels as real as she expects he wants. )

... That good enough?

Edited (punctuation) 2016-08-23 23:53 (UTC)

[That is exactly what he wanted.]

Yes. It was perfect. Thank you.

You will find the tea on the counter of your dwelling.

[And she will, and there's quite a bit of it too - certainly enough to last for a month or two, longer if she stretches it.]

Great.

... Er. Thanks.

( it's a big deal, Hope. )

You're welcome.

[He doesn't really get it, but when does he ever?]

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