[Every part of her that is the worst of her seems to be coming to the forefront, now. The weakness, the fear of abandonment, the self-loathing - they fight like tidal waves against the much softer waters of his dream landscape surrounding them. She doesn't regret her vengeance or her anger, but the weakness that shapes them and the humiliating reminder that she might only go so far without the help of someone else stings her eyes. She lowers her head, trying to to leash that dark weakness a little longer.]

My guess is they only ever want the one thing. [Rahu's already got a decent picture of how things are here. She lets out a sharp, rueful little chuckle, the noise so low in her throat that it burns straight down in her belly. Enduring things is what she does. The tips of her ears burn where they peek out from behind her hair, Rahu scans her gaze over Wriothesley, looking for similar symptoms within him but not yet desperate enough to just confirm, "You too?"]

So, you'll take care of the problem? Help me, and you'll help us both because you've got it figured out and can show me the ropes. My hero... [It's meant to come out a little self-disparaging, a little sharper than it does, but as Rahu's words go on, some of the bitterness peels away and gives way to genuine desperation. The more urgent "waves" of air and emotion challenging the relaxing sea become gentle and recede. The dream itself might slowly start to shift into that narrative - reward and reciprocation. But dream or no dream, suit or no suit, it shouldn't be difficult for him to get the impression that she's not someone who normally asks for help - not someone who needs a hero.] ...Please. I've been toughing it out alone.