The flinch barely registers; Greta is far more focused on Regan's hands, and the flimsy excuses they're shaping. She shakes her head, sharp and dismissive, like a horse shaking off a fly. Then she gets to her feet. If she keeps sitting still, she might burst.
She can't believe this. She can't believe they'd do something like this.
She lifts her hands, but it's like the last six months of learning have deserted her: she can't think of the signs for what she wants to say, can't remember if she ever learned them. Instead, she buries her fingers in her hair with a huff of frustration, then digs for her phone, typing out a message with shaking fingers, and then thrusting the screen beneath Regan's nose.
You could have texted you could have CALLED so I could speak with her you could have locked her in her bloody room if you had to! You could have kept her safe!!
no subject
She can't believe this. She can't believe they'd do something like this.
She lifts her hands, but it's like the last six months of learning have deserted her: she can't think of the signs for what she wants to say, can't remember if she ever learned them. Instead, she buries her fingers in her hair with a huff of frustration, then digs for her phone, typing out a message with shaking fingers, and then thrusting the screen beneath Regan's nose.
You could have texted you could have CALLED so I could speak with her you could have locked her in her bloody room if you had to! You could have kept her safe!!