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Edarial laughs, a little. "Fair point. Okay, well - what sort of... Things are they? Are they things that I'm personally doing wrong, are they things I could do better, or... What?"

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"I'm - not sure how to categorize them in those terms."

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"Then," says Berathyme, slithering up to Iobel, "Whisper them to me, and I will tell you if it is appropriate or not."

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Iobel thinks, then turns her head so it'll be harder for her words to carry to Edarial and whispers very quietly:

"The line of reasoning I was muttering about earlier - I wish it weren't so persistently non-functional. If I didn't respect him or like him, there are things that he'd be able to see that would show that, and I know he's smart enough to come up with them if he thought about it, but he didn't - whether it's because of the paranoia or something else I couldn't say - and that meant I assumed it was obvious and now I realize it wasn't but I don't know why it wasn't obvious or what other things aren't, and that's - exhausting to even think about. I'd like him to think a little bit more about what it would be like if the things he's worried about were true - if I still hated him or whatever - instead of - offloading that onto me so I have to say it, over and over again, since no amount of showing will work. Because I don't know how to be more demonstrative about not hating someone. He's complained about me being cold but any imaginable state of warmth that I can invent without instructions is - too far away, I'm not anywhere near hanging all over him like Isabella does Adarin."
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"Paranoia," answers Berathyme, in a very soft tone. "That is why. He will look for the bad but not for the good."

Edarial, meanwhile, goes back to counting.
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"Paranoia, then. I don't know how to fix that, and working around it is - hard."

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"Yes. The only way around that is time. It is a hard thing to work around, but can you blame him?" says Berathyme.

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"I said it could wait. It can wait. If it has to wait then it will," says Iobel testily.

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"Then wait," says Berathyme.

She slithers back to her binder and curls up next to him. He's still counting - he's at twenty-three, now.
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Iobel listens to the counting, and sighs.

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Counting, counting, counting.

"I wonder why no one's - digging us out," he muses.
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"I have no idea. My wall-walk will do it if nothing else."

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Edarial nods, then winces again.

"I can also do my - sight spell, check for the guards. When it's midnight."
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"Yeah. I have one for your head and I can probably cover the rest of your injuries in one spell, and I can do my leg, that's three, two if I wall-walk us both, that leaves me with one left unless you can take on some of the healing."

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"I can take on some of the healing - I don't have anything for concussions but broken bones and injuries I can do. So three for me, three for you."

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"Okay."

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Counting. Back to counting.

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And lying there, and just in case her sense of time is wildly off, trying to charge every now and then.

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No luck.

Edarial sounds very tired when he asks, "Think we'll actually manage it?"
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"Manage what, getting out? Yes. You're still conscious, all you have to do is stay that way till midnight and we'll be fine."

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"Not that. Fixing the world."

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"Isabella and Adarin have theirs thoroughly underway. If nothing else they'll do it. On our own account I think we can at least make progress."

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"That's... Good to hear."

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"Good."

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"If we actually manage to end up... together... I think I want to flaunt in their faces, that was so annoying."
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