Greta listens to the Balladeer's fractured explanation in silence, trying not to let her mounting distress show. She doesn't like the implication that Johnny's mess of a song is something he deserves or brought upon himself, something he's earned - that would be awful. But if Johnny's warning was correct, does that mean his history is--is infecting her friend?
She looks down at her cup for a few moments, as if seeking inspiration in the few swirling bits of looseleaf that made it through the strainer. But she's not a Witch; she doesn't know how to read the signs in these things (and she doesn't want to know; knowing seems to bring no end of problems). "Johnny... doesn't like talking about what's happened to him," she says slowly, as if navigating a treacherous bog, testing each word for stability before proceeding. "But I never got the sense that it was because he was ashamed, as if he'd done something terribly wrong. It was more like he thought his problems were catching, like an illness." Or a Curse, if you get too close.
Lifting her gaze back to the Balladeer, she continues, "And now you're getting close to it, and it's taking a toll on you." The words come faster, now, in a troubled little torrent. Whatever the exact nature of the problem, the solution seems clear enough to her. He needs to stop this before it's too late, regardless of what form 'too late' chooses to take. "You're not going to help anyone by making yourself sick over this."
no subject
She looks down at her cup for a few moments, as if seeking inspiration in the few swirling bits of looseleaf that made it through the strainer. But she's not a Witch; she doesn't know how to read the signs in these things (and she doesn't want to know; knowing seems to bring no end of problems). "Johnny... doesn't like talking about what's happened to him," she says slowly, as if navigating a treacherous bog, testing each word for stability before proceeding. "But I never got the sense that it was because he was ashamed, as if he'd done something terribly wrong. It was more like he thought his problems were catching, like an illness." Or a Curse, if you get too close.
Lifting her gaze back to the Balladeer, she continues, "And now you're getting close to it, and it's taking a toll on you." The words come faster, now, in a troubled little torrent. Whatever the exact nature of the problem, the solution seems clear enough to her. He needs to stop this before it's too late, regardless of what form 'too late' chooses to take. "You're not going to help anyone by making yourself sick over this."