She shivers, realising. But doesn't pull away. Oh, Norman... She doesn't pull away. If anything, she curls closer, wanting to see mor, th origin and the nature of this newcomer in her fiancee's mind. (Or was it even new?)
"Plaine." Searching... "Oh." Her stomach turns, sick fear and dismay. "She's -- gotten involved with him?"
He chuckles, and the fingers combing through her hair feel ever so slightly clawed. Not entirely new, no. But it's been some time. A year, and then some. Maybe just before her time, that last time this mind surfaced, that entertaining fight with the masked man.
She remembers vaguely, the way she does anything from when she was still Norman. This fresh reminder, the stark reality of those claws in her hair, makes her shiver, and she doesn't hide the fear from him. Or that it isn't enough to make her flee.
Another unhappy sound. "She probably thinks she can pull one over on him. Hell."
Here would be best, yes. More familiar, the threads twist better for them both. "Mmmyes." She leans against him, getting more comfortable again. It's alright. She's still safe, even with this new development. Her Norman is still in there.
"I think you'll want it to be." A touch of frost in her voice, in the green of her touch inside his head. Don't think she can't, won't just rip you out, if you make things too difficult for them. Or for her.
If you make me, darling. She did it to her maker, to save her own skin. If she needed to tear Ulti apart, put him back together again exactly how she wanted him, to save either of them... well. There wouldn't be very much hesitation, let's just say.
She ignores, doesn't acknowledge that 'what you love most' comment. No matter how much she suspects it might be true.
Busy! A bright, daylit crowd on a broad street, one lined with grassy medians, black iron fences, and the occassional small white building flanked with guards. Tourists swarm everywhere, in this sunny afternoon, many trying to take pictures through the fence of the very familiar building beyond.
Oh, Hell -- Her hands clench into fists as she fights down the panic, casting her mind about for the taste of Norman's mind as she weaves briskly through the crowds. Find him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, oh God please don't let him have done anything stupid...
Her lips pull back in a snarl, teeth bared at him for just a heartbeat -- and then gone, everything hidden under a calm veneer as she joins him. I don't know you well enough to have any kind of 'faith' in you, just yet. What are we doing here?
He welcomes her with a mile smile, offering memories through that wall. This vista, a landscape of burning tanks, corpses, and rain. Harry. And herself, quiet sly green in the dark bedroom and Ulti's teeth on her skin. But you've known me all along.
He offers more of those rich, dark memories, and darker speculation, even as his own green slides into her skin, close-fitting and warm. If she opens her eyes, his are watching her, amused and shot through with gold.
Norman... Her power coils inside his mind, trying to find her fiancee, hold onto his voice. See if he'll hate her if she lets this one... And she doesn't move against those ethreal touches -- why would she, when it wouldn't do any good -- but she doesn't push them away, either. Wavering, and since when has an Osborn been able to resist their Goblin?
It's hard to find a boundary, isn't it? Norman, her Norman, is only half an observer to his other side's thoughts and opinions. Hate her? No. Be thrilled about it? No. You see, what applies to her, applies to him.