JACK
Maybe one day Aurelia will find out what he's into. Right now, though, apparently it's whittling penises while covered in glitter and talking about birthdays. There's a fierce and smug grin on his face when she catches on to the decoration he's made, blue eyes not lifting from his creation as he carves a marvellous pair of balls to go along with it. "You like? Modelled it after my own. Not enough wood to make it to scale, though," he drawls, though the truth of that matter will depend on how hard she looked when he was getting dressed earlier.
The amusement fades somewhat as she embarks on her not thinking about things, and the memories reach for him with black and claggy fingers, like tar threatening to make sticky the gears of his mind. Jack chews on the inside of his cheek, paying particular attention to his creation during this time, though he can't help but snort at her self-deprecation, if that's what it is. "You? Not good at makin' friends? Lies," he mutters, before sitting back again.
"Only child," he explains. "Old man's still alive. Sends me a card every year." He's reaching out, jerking open one of the desk drawers to withdraw a wrinkled, stained slip of parchment folded in half. He unfolds it to show Aurelia, where a clumsy, drunken hand has scrawled murderer in block letters.
"My mother died bringin' me into this shithole world. I get the impression dear papa never forgave me for it." He shrugs. "Rest of Torchline's good enough when it comes to family - always has been."
The amusement fades somewhat as she embarks on her not thinking about things, and the memories reach for him with black and claggy fingers, like tar threatening to make sticky the gears of his mind. Jack chews on the inside of his cheek, paying particular attention to his creation during this time, though he can't help but snort at her self-deprecation, if that's what it is. "You? Not good at makin' friends? Lies," he mutters, before sitting back again.
"Only child," he explains. "Old man's still alive. Sends me a card every year." He's reaching out, jerking open one of the desk drawers to withdraw a wrinkled, stained slip of parchment folded in half. He unfolds it to show Aurelia, where a clumsy, drunken hand has scrawled murderer in block letters.
"My mother died bringin' me into this shithole world. I get the impression dear papa never forgave me for it." He shrugs. "Rest of Torchline's good enough when it comes to family - always has been."
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
