Raven + Eric
“The effort is appreciated,” Raven noted. “Though really, I don’t find it so bad around here.” It wasn’t the same for everyone, she could appreciate that. The restricted freedom. The very dominant forms of authority. The same walls, every day, never changing, with no possibility of change – unless some other government decided that it was time. It was a complicated set up. Even if the SEA did eventually pass; Raven didn’t imagine it would actually get less complicated.
Raven sipped at her champagne as Eric remarked that he wanted to assuage the agent’s sense of this place as a prison – at least for a while. “A beautiful sight to see,” she quoted. “Though, one could argue, quite effectively I might add, that masking reality is more damaging in the long run. Not that I’m an authority on the power of illusions or anything…,” she hid her grin behind the glass as she took another sip. She had to assume that, even though he wasn’t her handler, he had an idea of what sorts of abilities she possessed.
She laughed at the mental image of people lined up trying to get inside of Limbo. “You would have to start investing in bunk beds. This place really would end up looking a lot like a college dorm. Just with a spa and juice bar, apparently.”
As he leaned closer in his secret-divulging manner, Raven mimicked the movement, ducking her head and turning her ear so that he could “whisper” (as if he could actually only whisper above the music). At the suggestion of a real trip to Ireland to experience St. Patrick’s in its truly glory, Raven let out a low whistle. “Whew, that’s going to be quite the pricy and extravagant celebration, but it would certainly top this one, I’ll give you that.” She gently knocked her chute against his, a little cheers after the fact, and added, “If that’s your plan, you of course have my support. Never been to the Isles before.” And with that she downed the rest of the contents of her chute.