[WV looks glassily between PM and AR, believing her but desperately wishing he couldn't. Everything they dreamed of, everything they'd been planning, from their time in the desert until only this morning, shattered in only a few minutes, a few words. He thinks absently of the books from the library stacked in the bedroom, the lists he's drawn up of supplies, of his beautiful silk hat. He thinks of the Slayer, and how he decimated an army in moments, leaving the ground soaked with blood. It isn't difficult for his mind to change those black and white fields for sand.]
[he leans a bit on PM, unconscious that he's doing it, and looks to AR, not really seeing him at all]
[he opens his mouth to try to say something, but he isn't sure whether or not real words will come out, so instead he closes his mouth again, feeling oddly cold all over]