sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine
“Only four of them?” Distraction and curiosity rob the actual humour from his voice, the joke coming out flatter than he means as he cranes to look at the box shed drawn out. Even without being able to smell it, Nate knows it’s pungent, his mind supplying a familiar potpourri aroma. It’s not right, but somehow it still eases him.
Some prt of the conversation seems to be going in circles, even as they stray further and further from concrete points. The Lone Ranger fixes the skull with a baleful stare, his lips pursing. “Every living thing cares about being alive. And every ascended cares about the Grounds. We have to.” Gods know they have precious few places to retreat to. These answers are logic though. Easy to offer, to brush away. Obviously. Of course!
Attention is a word that strikes a nerve. That sends a dark silvery flush bursting across Nate’s face, his features pinched into the scrunch faced dramatics of a child’s tantrum. “I don’t give a shit. He insists, voice just a touch too loud for calm. “Why would I care? It’s just fuckin’… polite, I got everything I need, alright?”
His tirade distracts from the careful words Chaele’s hands do, but not the fingers that reach towards him. The distraction doesn’t affect the reaction, a crackling static hand closing around the shaman’s wrist and holding it still. Nate’s eyes narrow, the corners of his lips sinking with the sudden weight of suspicion. “Of course there’s things I care about.” He growls, tongue snapping in a very dangerous looking show. “What’s this for?” Truth be told, Nate can’t be sure she’s even holding the hair any more, but it’s still obvious what he means. Hopefully, it’s obvious what he’s afraid of too.
Some prt of the conversation seems to be going in circles, even as they stray further and further from concrete points. The Lone Ranger fixes the skull with a baleful stare, his lips pursing. “Every living thing cares about being alive. And every ascended cares about the Grounds. We have to.” Gods know they have precious few places to retreat to. These answers are logic though. Easy to offer, to brush away. Obviously. Of course!
Attention is a word that strikes a nerve. That sends a dark silvery flush bursting across Nate’s face, his features pinched into the scrunch faced dramatics of a child’s tantrum. “I don’t give a shit. He insists, voice just a touch too loud for calm. “Why would I care? It’s just fuckin’… polite, I got everything I need, alright?”
His tirade distracts from the careful words Chaele’s hands do, but not the fingers that reach towards him. The distraction doesn’t affect the reaction, a crackling static hand closing around the shaman’s wrist and holding it still. Nate’s eyes narrow, the corners of his lips sinking with the sudden weight of suspicion. “Of course there’s things I care about.” He growls, tongue snapping in a very dangerous looking show. “What’s this for?” Truth be told, Nate can’t be sure she’s even holding the hair any more, but it’s still obvious what he means. Hopefully, it’s obvious what he’s afraid of too.
i couldn't get the boy to kill me
but i wore his jacket for the longest time
NATE
