[ How can she tell that he wasn’t capitalizing it? A mystery for another day, perhaps.
Still looking at him strangely, she goes to the nearest desk, contemplating the papers and pens on it for a moment. ]
This is stupid.
[ She looks at him sidelong. ] I can’t believe I’m doing this when you’re probably actually fucking with me this time.
[ Still. She relaxes, points to one of the pens to show where he should direct his attention, and sings out a long, bright note with no particular words.
Nothing happens.
From the look on her face, something clearly should have. ]
What the f....
[ A deep breath. She sings a quick scale of notes, searching for that ever-present feeling of strength she takes for granted—but it feels like she’s listening to nothing but static. No symphonies. No familiar tunes. ]
Oh god. [ She feels sick. Athena covers her mouth with one shaking hand, then the other, trying to get her fingers to stop trembling. Mumbled: ] What the fuck.
[ She drops her hands and yells in a mix of desperation and anger. ] What the fuck!
[ Athena is pretty much ignoring Tony now. She draws in a deep breath, focuses her attention on that stupid pen, and belts out the chorus of Fly Like an Eagle by Steve Miller Band.
All at once, that familiar feeling clicks, and the pen rockets off the desk and past Tony to hit the far wall.
Athena stares at it where it came to rest, still feeling sick. ] What the fuck. It shouldn’t have been that hard. What the fuck.
no subject
[ How can she tell that he wasn’t capitalizing it? A mystery for another day, perhaps.
Still looking at him strangely, she goes to the nearest desk, contemplating the papers and pens on it for a moment. ]
This is stupid.
[ She looks at him sidelong. ] I can’t believe I’m doing this when you’re probably actually fucking with me this time.
[ Still. She relaxes, points to one of the pens to show where he should direct his attention, and sings out a long, bright note with no particular words.
Nothing happens.
From the look on her face, something clearly should have. ]
What the f....
[ A deep breath. She sings a quick scale of notes, searching for that ever-present feeling of strength she takes for granted—but it feels like she’s listening to nothing but static. No symphonies. No familiar tunes. ]
Oh god. [ She feels sick. Athena covers her mouth with one shaking hand, then the other, trying to get her fingers to stop trembling. Mumbled: ] What the fuck.
[ She drops her hands and yells in a mix of desperation and anger. ] What the fuck!
[ Athena is pretty much ignoring Tony now. She draws in a deep breath, focuses her attention on that stupid pen, and belts out the chorus of Fly Like an Eagle by Steve Miller Band.
All at once, that familiar feeling clicks, and the pen rockets off the desk and past Tony to hit the far wall.
Athena stares at it where it came to rest, still feeling sick. ] What the fuck. It shouldn’t have been that hard. What the fuck.