"--Right, uh, there's this thing called the social emotional chart, that I learned in school." In detention. But details. "There's four zones--blue, green, yellow, red. The blue zone is like... tired, sad, sick, things that make you feel low. Like you have no energy, I guess."
She pulls herself up onto the nearest folding table to let her feet dangle. "The green zone is steady, willing to learn, in a good headspace, right. Yellow is things like worry, anxiety, confusion, stuff that riles you up a little. The red zone is where you completely lose it, basically. And the point of learning the chart is to help figure out what to do in each zone."
"I think it would be kind of hard to be all of them. If you're blue, yellow, and red, it'd be kind of hard to be green." She frowns, brow furrowed. "John, let me give you a hug."
He floats down to where she's sitting and it's clear that he's still wary about it. But after a moment, he'll make his way to where she can reach out and take the mask.
"...What does it feel like to have your mask hugged, anyway? Do you feel it like you feel things when you have a body in the breaches?" There's a half-second of nervousness, and Willa takes the mask and pulls it into a tight hug.
And she'll feel it, as he slips in, as he takes her sense of taste and one of her arms suddenly seems to be numb, the one laying over the one holding him to her chest. More importantly, there's the presence sliding into her consciousness, warm and fond and absolutely a churning something that he won't quite let her feel carefully.
[ Yes, I can feel the hug. It's different from when I have a body. Arthur sometimes puts his hand over my mask when we're spending time together. ]
That makes her smile. She resettles her one hand on the mask, trying and failing to flex the fingers of her other hand. It's weird. She knows she should feel it moving, almost does in a ghostly way just because she expects it. But there's nothing.
That warmth, the fondness, gets a reactive warmth and a feeling that Willa doesn't really have a word for. Something that feels bigger than safe, more absolute than cozy. The kind of place her heart goes when she's on the couch watching stupid movies with her dad, or they're sharing a hug, or making a mess cooking dinner. Trust turned outward for him to feel.
Also, she can no longer taste her toothpaste.
"..Really glad I brushed my teeth after breakfast."
"What kind of bad?" It's patient, almost coaxing. "Like... When you think about how you're feeling, what other times does it remind you of? Or. If you don't want to say that. Um... My therapist told me to talk about the way my body feels, like what physical sensations I got, but that's kind of not useful for you, I guess."
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She pulls herself up onto the nearest folding table to let her feet dangle. "The green zone is steady, willing to learn, in a good headspace, right. Yellow is things like worry, anxiety, confusion, stuff that riles you up a little. The red zone is where you completely lose it, basically. And the point of learning the chart is to help figure out what to do in each zone."
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"Only if you sit first. If I get one of your legs, I don't want you to fall."
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"Deal."
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[ Yes, I can feel the hug. It's different from when I have a body. Arthur sometimes puts his hand over my mask when we're spending time together. ]
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That warmth, the fondness, gets a reactive warmth and a feeling that Willa doesn't really have a word for. Something that feels bigger than safe, more absolute than cozy. The kind of place her heart goes when she's on the couch watching stupid movies with her dad, or they're sharing a hug, or making a mess cooking dinner. Trust turned outward for him to feel.
Also, she can no longer taste her toothpaste.
"..Really glad I brushed my teeth after breakfast."
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But I suppose you might have been self-conscious. Sure.]
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She strokes the mask lightly, aware of that swirling something he's keeping distant.
"Why're you looking for Arthur?"
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I wanted to talk to him about it.]
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[ There's not much to talk about. I know how he feels.
Arthur, I mean. ]
Maybe he wanted to be wrong, though. Or told he's wrong, anyway. Even if it was just for a few days.
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The words are blunt, but her tone is soft.
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[Bad.]
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Sorry, just the truth. He wishes it did, though he's not sure how helpful that would be either.
[It reminds me of being in the dark.
I hate being in the dark. ]