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Summary
“Join me,” said it -- its voice reverberating through the armor, that metallic vibrato ringing in the dish of her ear. White Lily didn’t know where its voice came from. Certainly not from its center; she was all-too-familiar with what lay at the core of Silent Salt’s armor.
White Lily reached up, allowing Silent Salt to wrap one of its tentacles around her wrist. The gesture was nearly comforting, almost intimate -- as fair of an approximation as it could achieve -- as Silent Salt drew her towards it, towards what waited beneath its shell. She collided gently with its breastplate, both hands braced against its surface, her head held to it so she could hear the cacophony of its mechanism.
An arm, heavy, fell onto her shoulders, reminiscent of -- but never truly managing to be -- a hug. “Your answer?”
“Not out in the hallway. In my room.”