Under the Maltese Skies

[Omi]

To Enma, the few minutes Charlotte took to compose and send her message might have seemed like an eternity. For the Charlotte herself, it wasn't too bad, although she felt a little foolish at how little she'd truly said. Would it even reach Claire in any good time? She wasn't sure.

"Fuck," she said, her gaze downcast to the communicator cradled in one hand. It would burn a constant hole in her psyche until she felt it buzz with a reply -- that much she knew, niggling and worrying at her with indecision and paralysis until then. Her sister was the one anchor she had to her old life, if what Enma said was true -- the Kingdom itself was gone, and she'd scarcely come to know anyone outside her immediate family beyond those who were already dead and Claire herself. If she didn't get a reply back, she would be truly alone. The thought left a little shiver down her spine -- the future did not look good for an isolated, lone Gallic noble in a future where all her titles had turned to dust overnight, particularly not one addicted to the Maltese leash that was Cardamine and with the enigmatic, manipulative Loyola taking a personal interest in her. Hopefully, this was a storm she could weather.

Eventually, though, she broke somewhat free of her reverie, turning on her heel again and pushing her way back through into the previous room. Loyola was still lounging in the chair from before, her blonde hair hanging down over her closed eyes, lending her an air of tranquility. Charlotte almost felt bad for disturbing her, but needs must. She coughed once.

"It's out," she said. "I don't know when or if we'll get a reply, but if she still has the address coded into that device, I imagine we can expect a reply in a matter of hours at most." I hope. Please, Claire. Her mood seemed to have lifted just a little with the comm now out in the open, but the unease inside her hadn't entirely disappeared. If anything, Charlotte had only grown a little more full of nervousness and anticipation -- if Claire didn't reply to her at all, then she would need to forge her own path; one which Loyola was sure to want more than a guiding hand in.

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