sapphirescales:

     ”Sure.”

her pen pauses, a ticking
pendulum debilitating
between a decision.

     ”What did you say
     this was for, again?”

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

          Instead of answering, 
     Enjolras waves is hand at 
     the top of the paper–

                    'ꜱᴀy ɴᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴩᴇʀʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇɢɪꜱᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀᴄᴛ.’

          The next time she looks
     at him, there is something
     righteous about the glint in
     his eye, as though he is 
     expecting more questions,
     as though he is expecting
     an     ａｒｇｕｍｅｎｔ. 

           He smiles. 

                       "We don’t want what happened
                     in America to repeat itself here.“