[ Some losses are like pinprick holes in reinforced exteriors; small enough that the shape of the whole doesn't crack or warp, but big enough that they keep bleeding out. It's the sort of steady trickle that becomes normalized with each passing day, the sort of slow drain that leaves people tired but not incapable of functioning.
Venom knows that Jack knows what it feels like. He sees it in the patterns of his companion's face, hears it in the diplomacy of his tone. Consolation is never on the table, but sometimes the acknowledgment of loss is cathartic in itself— just to be able to say that yes, his silent companion was real, and yes, she was there.
So he stops himself before he can sink into something painful. Imagines Quiet hovering on the kitchen counter next to him, grimacing and pointing a well-aimed middle finger in his face. "Don't mope, it's fucking annoying," in not so many words.
Venom breathes a dry half-chuckle. ]
Mm.
She would've given Ana a run for her money.
[ (see— he's fine. he knows what Quiet would've wanted him to say.) ]
no subject
Venom knows that Jack knows what it feels like. He sees it in the patterns of his companion's face, hears it in the diplomacy of his tone. Consolation is never on the table, but sometimes the acknowledgment of loss is cathartic in itself— just to be able to say that yes, his silent companion was real, and yes, she was there.
So he stops himself before he can sink into something painful. Imagines Quiet hovering on the kitchen counter next to him, grimacing and pointing a well-aimed middle finger in his face. "Don't mope, it's fucking annoying," in not so many words.
Venom breathes a dry half-chuckle. ]
Mm.
She would've given Ana a run for her money.
[ (see— he's fine. he knows what Quiet would've wanted him to say.) ]