Some in her new company have been overly familiar with names, but it hasn't bothered her in the way that it ought to. It's only reminded her that she should not be so quick to let down her own guard when addressing them in turn. There's an intimacy when someone utters her Christian name, and the overfamiliarity ought to offend someone with her upbringing, but she had never been skilled at confining herself to those societal expectations.
The niceties and the walls she has kept up are not for decorum, but for safety, yet from the moment both of their hands touched the cards of prophecy, Vanessa had understood that neither she nor the Doctor would be safe in the other's presence. He has walked the precipice and so has she, but he has also let himself fall into the pit with darkness and death. Perhaps that is why she never asks him for his true name. She is not yet ready to fall. Already she teeters, and with her desperately seeking his gaze and nodding at the sound of her name, Vanessa worries that if she is not careful, he will drag her down. How lonely it is in the dark, Vanessa.
Her fears are well founded, perhaps too literally, as just when she thinks she may have his attention, he again loses himself. She can only gasp in surprise when his vice of a grip pulls without mercy, and Vanessa must grab at her skirts to keep from tripping over them.
He won't harm you.
She shudders, but doesn't try to pull away, only able to do her best to try and keep up without being outright dragged. She scarcely succeeds, faltering only once and bruising a knee when another victim of fear knocks against the both of them. Somehow the bullets haven't found either of them again, but she doesn't trust where he might be running. Should they run outside? What awaits them out there? A sense of dread, that's what.
"Stop! You must stop. I cannot breathe." She may not tighten her corset for vanity, but it still is not made for such activity. Her ribs feel constricted as she struggles to take a moment that he might pause, so then she can lurch and push against him, her grip on his own hand tightening while her other drops her skirts and reaches to grab at his shoulder to try and push him behind a pillar. Regretfully, she digs her fingers against the wound, hoping that physical pain might snap him back to the waking world. "Something is outside, I can feel it. It is not you. It is not him." Something else... But what? Everything is too chaotic. Everyone's screams are too loud, and she finds herself dizzy.
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The niceties and the walls she has kept up are not for decorum, but for safety, yet from the moment both of their hands touched the cards of prophecy, Vanessa had understood that neither she nor the Doctor would be safe in the other's presence. He has walked the precipice and so has she, but he has also let himself fall into the pit with darkness and death. Perhaps that is why she never asks him for his true name. She is not yet ready to fall. Already she teeters, and with her desperately seeking his gaze and nodding at the sound of her name, Vanessa worries that if she is not careful, he will drag her down. How lonely it is in the dark, Vanessa.
Her fears are well founded, perhaps too literally, as just when she thinks she may have his attention, he again loses himself. She can only gasp in surprise when his vice of a grip pulls without mercy, and Vanessa must grab at her skirts to keep from tripping over them.
He won't harm you.
She shudders, but doesn't try to pull away, only able to do her best to try and keep up without being outright dragged. She scarcely succeeds, faltering only once and bruising a knee when another victim of fear knocks against the both of them. Somehow the bullets haven't found either of them again, but she doesn't trust where he might be running. Should they run outside? What awaits them out there? A sense of dread, that's what.
"Stop! You must stop. I cannot breathe." She may not tighten her corset for vanity, but it still is not made for such activity. Her ribs feel constricted as she struggles to take a moment that he might pause, so then she can lurch and push against him, her grip on his own hand tightening while her other drops her skirts and reaches to grab at his shoulder to try and push him behind a pillar. Regretfully, she digs her fingers against the wound, hoping that physical pain might snap him back to the waking world. "Something is outside, I can feel it. It is not you. It is not him." Something else... But what? Everything is too chaotic. Everyone's screams are too loud, and she finds herself dizzy.