Stopped here why did you stop here stopped here why did you stop here stopped here why did you stop here pointless to stop here knock it off this is not forward this is not where she is not where she went not where she's going this just is it doesn't matter you don't need to be where something is that only makes it novel knock it off not here stop here stopped here why did you stop here don't you do it don't sit down oh you rotten bitch you don't even get five minutes it's going to hurt now it's going to hurt and you deserve for it to because you shouldn't be stopped here stopping here why why why why no no no no you are not thirsty you do not deserve to be thirsty that spring is not for you stop it don't think about being parched that only makes it true you are strong supposed to be strong supposed to be better than this don't don't damn it damn it damn it it tastes good why does it taste good why are you doing this this is all you're fault I'm going to take this out on you later where nothing is around where no one can see me no one can stop me the armor is coming off I will take it off of you and then I am going to elbow you in the ribs until it bruises do you understand Eclair you need to listen you are useless and they are counting on you not to be you are failing the Auroras you're failing your sisters you are failing Yuki Edogawa you are failing Timtam why is this so difficult to comprehend would you just [i]stop slurping up that spring[/i] you are just, just, just, simply the very most

What was that noise?

Eclair looks up. Perks up would be an overexaggeration, but she looks up. She also slumps over. It's a complicated set of motions, but she manages it with the dignity expected of a maid-knight. She is simply tired. She has been walking for quite a long time at this point. More damning, with the excitement of finding the mural the other day she had forgotten the need to eat anything. And of course there'd been no time after. She brought neither food nor water when she left Crevas, in that stubborn proud insistent sort of way that dragged her into the Outside to begin with, that miserable pounding voice that screamed over and over again that it would only take her a few short hours at most to catch up and so there was simply no need, no time, and above all else no capacity to prepare for a sustained march.

It isn't Timtam come to negotiate or explain herself. Eclair does not remember to hide her disappointment. She flinches, plucks at her skirt, and hangs her head in obvious disappointment before -- well. No, before nothing. That's just what she does. Her sigh is long suffering and very very loud, and zero effort is made to be polite about it or think about why she ought to be. She busies herself with the act of sitting there trying to will the Oasis out of existence, to make this anything other than a meeting place, to make it unsafe for someone else to be here and to talk with her, or at the very least to project the hint that company was neither desired nor possible at this specific moment.

But of course, none of that can be heard over the sound of clattering charms. And none of it can be smelled over the coming rain. It's actually very difficult to be mad at rain, if you didn't know. It's very easy to be mad at yourself for [i]not[/i] being mad at something, even rain, but it's a losing battle to drag yourself down when something is working so hard and so effortlessly to lift you back up. So Eclair stops trying to stab Ruthmoreness with mind daggers and just opens her mouth to say hail and well met.

But no sound escapes her. Well that's a new kind of frustrating. She huffs and rolls her eyes, instead. Wait no, what's the question? Any messes? That one is obvious.

Gesture toward sky. Meaningful look, making sure to capture attention, full eye contact. Break gesture, point at top of own head. At self. Point at self. Here. Here is the mess. Observe head tilt, roll eyes. Point again. Be more insistent. Faster, sharper gesture. Wave hand at uniform, at state. Tap throat. Shake head.

...

Take out notebook. Place bookmark at mission start (blue satin ribbon, very soothing). Throw book at maximum velocity in direction of Ruthmoreness' head.

Angry, yes. Irritated. Tired. Annoyed. But open. No proof the clumsy girl has not been tricked. Is not a plant. Possibilities abound. Nevertheless, choosing to trust. Always make the attempt, even if it turns out to be for the sake of a traitor.