Sonia files all these things away to ask Carolina about, including with this Wash person, who's obviously key to this whole thing, and...apparently nearly as dangerous as Maine. Who hasn't yet become the monster Tucker knew. Sonia, ever optimistic, wonders if that could be prevented, here. If Maine could derail that hideous destiny. But she doesn't give voice to that now, because it's not what Tucker needs to hear.
A hand goes to his shoulder now, a wave of gut-wrenching sympathy washing over her. God, it all just sounds...so awful. Losing someone you love, even if they're some kind of digital construct -- because this Church, he sounded like he was some kind of whole person -- Sonia can't imagine it. She doesn't even want to. But she already is, and she bites her lower lip to keep it from quivering.
"It's all bullshit," she echoes quietly -- not just this, not just Tucker and the Freelancers, but all of it. The war, the whatever-the-fuck that dragged Tucker away from his home to an awful place like this. The curse sounds strange coming from her, but hey, even princesses swear sometimes.
The question makes her bite her lip harder, but she's at least slightly more qualified to give an answer than any of the soldiers, whose responses would have been much more grim. "I'm...not entirely sure," she says slowly, honestly, and she stares at her knees as she brings them up against her chest, the better to tuck herself against Tucker under the blanket. "Don't get me wrong, what they're doing here is -- " Bitterness steals its way into her voice, sharp and icy, but she bites it back. "They didn't come here for genocide. The Cetagadans are expansionists, not mass murderers."
It does, however, take physical effort to get those last few words out, because from her perspective, that's all they feel like these days. "Aside from Miles and Byerly, none of you are even from this world. They're more likely to be curious, and -- generally speaking -- they're very civil toward their guests."
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A hand goes to his shoulder now, a wave of gut-wrenching sympathy washing over her. God, it all just sounds...so awful. Losing someone you love, even if they're some kind of digital construct -- because this Church, he sounded like he was some kind of whole person -- Sonia can't imagine it. She doesn't even want to. But she already is, and she bites her lower lip to keep it from quivering.
"It's all bullshit," she echoes quietly -- not just this, not just Tucker and the Freelancers, but all of it. The war, the whatever-the-fuck that dragged Tucker away from his home to an awful place like this. The curse sounds strange coming from her, but hey, even princesses swear sometimes.
The question makes her bite her lip harder, but she's at least slightly more qualified to give an answer than any of the soldiers, whose responses would have been much more grim. "I'm...not entirely sure," she says slowly, honestly, and she stares at her knees as she brings them up against her chest, the better to tuck herself against Tucker under the blanket. "Don't get me wrong, what they're doing here is -- " Bitterness steals its way into her voice, sharp and icy, but she bites it back. "They didn't come here for genocide. The Cetagadans are expansionists, not mass murderers."
It does, however, take physical effort to get those last few words out, because from her perspective, that's all they feel like these days. "Aside from Miles and Byerly, none of you are even from this world. They're more likely to be curious, and -- generally speaking -- they're very civil toward their guests."