abraxaslogs | ( open log ) august catch-all

Entry tags:

( open log ) august catch-all

Who: "Kyle" + anyone!
What: Just a newly Summoned tries to get his bearings. Checking out the layout of the castle, wandering around Horizon. All starters are open unless otherwise marked!
When: The beginning-middle of August for now
Where: Castle Thorne, Horizon
Warnings: Descriptions of violence. Will update if needed!
Misc: Check out his opt-out for general content warnings about this character. Starters are brackets but I will match prose!

NORTH WING: THE STUDY HALL AND GRAND LIBRARY

[ He's beginning to get used to the freedom with which these people use witchcraft— magic. In the study hall he observes the students and masters work from a safe distance, allowing them to assume whatever they wish of his curiosity from his plain tunic marked with the symbol of The Hanged Man and genuinely surprised expressions whenever they manage some particularly flashy bit of spellwork. The lights and flashes of color have a beauty to them, the movements of objects in thin air wonderous and kind of comical at times— when an apprentice creates a fake doorway he can't help remembering a colorful cartoon about a coyote and a speedy bird playing on an old, dusty television screen.

He unconsciously catalogues the practical motions of their magic— out of curiosity, and, perhaps unconsciously at first, out of necessary, life-preserving habit. He might one day need to quickly know the most efficient way to stop one of these mages from using their power.

It's never a thought he relishes, especially when he watches some of the younger ones, their expressions filled with awe at their teachers.

When he leaves, he does so quietly.

In the grand library he's overwhelmed for a minute. Neither in Nayeshi or Rathal'pesha has he seen a library of this grandeur, though there must have been something like it in the Black Tower before it fell...

He pulls out some tomes at random, finding a table to sit at where his back may face a wall. Despite his conversations with Jack he's actually not much of a reader. His attention wanders too easily when he's forced to sit still like this, a part of his awareness always on his surroundings when he's in such an open place.

There are histories of the kingdom that he skims, until he finds that he can't read a section. The words are in another language, which only stands out because so far he's been able to read just about everything as if it were in English or Payshmura script. ]

Can you read this? [ He'll ask with an raised eyebrow to whoever happens to be sitting near him. He holds up the passage, unbeknownst to him written in Ancient Thornean on the applications of magic in the past, nothing scandalous. ]

EAST, SOUTH AND WEST WINGS: LOOKING FOR BONES

[ He carefully maps what little he can of the east wing. When the guards ward him off he feigns being the bumbling outsider, which isn't so far from the truth, apologizing and turning around from the locked doors without argument. He's not used to being kept out of anywhere, but he doesn't have access to the Gray Space yet. He'll have to be patient.

He people watches in the south wing for a little while before moving on to the west wing. There he feels a little more comfortable, the cooks remind him of the women in the Lisam house. When they try to shoo him out he offers to carry some bags of flour from storage, listening to the back and forth of their comradery and, more importantly, scoping out where they toss their bones when they're done carving the meats. ]

HORIZON: THE TEMPLE

( description )

[ He'd come back to this place to conjure those promised magazines for Jack: it's only his second time entering the realm, the first with all of his memories intact.

Nothing of the Payshmura remains in Basawar, the Fai'daum and Jath'ibaye made sure of that. As lost as that realization had first made him feel, he couldn't blame them for what they did. And he had seen how life had continued for the people, no longer under the shadow of the Black Tower, no longer fearing that their daughters and wives might be accused of having witches' bones.

The Church had always feared the Rifter, and rightly so. But the people hadn't yet realized that they had never needed to.

It's strange to look at these two towering statues now, knowing who Jath'ibaye was and is. He tries to search out his features in their twin faces and they begin to take familiar form— which forces him to look away.

Once inside he sits on a thin rug in front of the iron tree, his leather duster folded on the floor next to him. His clothes are all black and form-fitting, his vest padded like body armor. Today is has white crystalline blossoms instead of its crystal fruit. There are echoes of the Payshmura in this place: the iron, the marble. But the air doesn't taste like burnt ozone. It's not thin and cold here. The tree looks ominous at first, but when he touches its iron bark is quickly warms from the heat of his palm. Above him the sky is a starry night, the darkest velvet of a Nayeshi sky and the pinpoint lights of stars burning brightly.

It's empty, but he doesn't feel alone here.

He can't remember the last time he felt this safe. ]

You can sit and pray, if you'd like. [ He'll say to anyone who enters through the open doors, still seated where he was at the base of the tree. There's a stone cup in his hand, the daru'sira curling with steam. More cups and glasses stand on a simple platter next to him, a simple iron teapot in front of them. He nods to them, then shrugs. ]

Or just relax with a drink.

[ As long as they don't plan on causing any disturbance.

Here, he doesn't mind visitors. There's a more sacred, hidden place behind the walls that he can go if he wanted to be alone to pray to his god. ]

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[He's not sleeping. Really. Why would he be sleeping, this is a library. And if he was sleeping for a lengthy amount of time he would have been shooed out by now--out of a "kindness" for his well being.

But there's an almost-finished book definitely pillowed under where his arms are folded and his head buried.

(If he was sleeping he wouldn't have processed the question so quickly. Ha!)

Lucifer's first, immediate reaction before he even looks up is yes, obviously. He can read anything, thank you. But then he draws out of his restful position and glances over, blurrily recognizing the figure, and then checking the text in question.

Oh.

That.

He wrinkles his nose in disdain.]

No. I can't. Thanks for the reminder.

[ With his head buried in his arms Kahlil fails to recognize who it is that he's rudely awoken--

and, of course.

How does he keep ending up seated next to this man?

He leaves the book open between them, frowning at the page from where he sits. ]

Then you've seen this script before?

[ Will you tell him it takes a dance to unlock its secrets this time? ]

[Ohhhh, the temptation is there. But he's still ~~waking up~~ reorienting.] Only that I've read through much of this library. And others. Seen it once or twice. [He sniffs and leans back, stretching his arms up over his head and getting the kinks out and making a bit of an exaggerated groan.

Only a bit though. His reduced state makes everything feel awfully cramped, his wings not settling right with his vessel. And he thought it was bad before his not!brother sliced a sliver of his grace from him.] Maybe they teach classes on how to read it. I don't know, haven't checked. But you know they say it's harder to learn new languages when you get too old. [That's not exactly how they say that.

But he's definitely calling Kyle old (and by default likely lumping himself in that statement, but whatever, he'd call himself an exception, re:~~asshole~~archangel).]

[ There's a brief flicker across his expression, a slight tilt of his head and narrowing of his eyes, a wordless: excuse me? ]

Guess I'll have to ask around and find out. [ Nonchalant, not allowing any more reaction to the little dig at his age, except for a small shrug as he reaches over to close the book and slide it back toward his side of the table. He'll probably hold onto it to ask someone in the study hall later.

With a furrowed brow, and a little dryly: ]

What's your name? I meant to ask the other day, but your mouth was very full...

I could've told you then. [He's grinning, like he just has that right sense that if he had said it with a full mouth, he knows the guy would've been annoyed.

He folds his arms behind his head and maybe it's only the delight of having someone that's enjoyable to needle around the castle that he gives his name more easily than he usually would, without subconsciously bracing himself every damn time.] Lucifer.

[ He's not wrong, it would've annoyed him. Not because he's a stickler for manners all the time. It's the whole package.

Lucifer. It's a name he recognizes, although it takes a second to recall from where-- and then mostly in the context of those same cartoons as the coyote and the bird. A man painted all red with horns and a pitchfork, or an ironically named chihuahua. People of Nayeshi believe in a single devil to oppose their god. He'd wondered if they had known about Parfir and the Rifter in some distant past, whether their god and devil myth was some bastardization of Payshmura scripture left behind by another Kahlil.

It feels kind of on the nose that he calls himself Lucifer, but he can picture him in the whole cartoonish get up. ]

Kyle. [ He taps the cover of the book idly, offering his name even though he wasn't asked. Lets his gaze drift around the walls of bookshelves. ] You must've been stuck here a while now.

[ To have read so much already. ]

Edited 2022-08-10 07:30 (UTC)

[Well it's only polite for the call-and-response of a name given, a name to be returned. Not that Lucifer, clearly, is one to care about politeness.

He follows Kyle's gaze.] I think I'm working on month three. Maybe. The first was a bit of a blur. The second was more a distraction, ergo the mass amount of reading. And to be honest [which he has, oddly, been] I have little interest in whatever drivel they have about the basics of magic.

[ Three months isn't so long. He wonders how many books Lucifer's actually read. And--

His gaze lands back on Lucifer, his tapping finger going still. ]

Then what are you interested in?

[ Still feeling honest? ]

[(The truth of the matter is he got very Tired with much of the content he found and even he found a breaking point.)

His gaze sharpens. Lucifer--who by his nature is usually always moving in someway, whether it be pacing or simply fidgeting--goes completely motionless, almost to match the stopped tapping. There's only the barest tilt to his head; he's watching Kyle, looking him over.

Maybe for the first time.

Judgment? Consideration? Some weighing of a scale that only Lucifer knows what each side represents and it could change at any given day, hour, second.

His voice is crisp, cool. Two words:] The Singularity.

[ He doesn't fear other men. Not since giving up his name and becoming Kahlil. Even when his memories seem to lie to him, he's still sure of this.

He doesn't fear this man, but there is something to be wary of in his presence. It's that abrupt sharpness in his eyes, the unpredictable shift from petulant manchild to something keen and intelligent and predatory. There's something distinctly dangerous about holding this man's attention for too long. ]

You and at least three nations who would go to war over it.

[ Along with himself, though he isn't ready to fight another world's war yet. Not until he knows what his god's purpose is for him here. ]

Edited 2022-08-11 05:08 (UTC)

What? Were you hoping for something more creative? [He draws out each of the words, his voice dipping low and carrying an eerie tune.

He grins toothily.] Maybe it's that war I'm interested in.

[And then in another abrupt shift--because even he won't risk letting such a phrase linger for long, regardless what context anyone could get from it (maybe he has other concerns than wanting war)--he's pressing forward, arms thumped over his book, boisterously laughing.] Look, whatever that thing is it messed with my head, and that's not easy to do, so I need to know more.

[ Maybe it's that war I'm interested in. His eyes narrow at that, and then he's almost immediately forced to resist the urge to lean back and away from his sudden movements and laughter. The hand that isn't touching the book itches for a blade his no longer has.

(he sees Jath'ibaye in his fevered, poisoned state, holding Kahlil by the throat before he could think to run)

He manages not to flinch, somehow. Instead he slowly shakes his head, shrugging as he admits plainly this time: ]

So do I. [ A pause, forcing himself to hold his gaze. ] When did it mess with your head?

[ Unless he means when he first entered Horizon. ]

[He's only so open about it because it further buries his other commentary. Despite all appearances, he's an extremely-cautious individual.

He sniffs.] That first "blur" of a month. Though I've been told that this wasn't the first time the Singularity made a mess of the Summoned. [And then some. He's still unsure the level of effects to anyone else.]

I wonder why. [ His frown deepens as he murmurs that part aloud, mostly to himself. ]

Have you gone to the aspect of it at the center of Horizon?

[ He already has plans to. ]

... No. [This is said with some hesitance. Some beginning of a crack in Lucifer's contrasting personalities in this odd, off-balanced discussion.

It's not that...! It's not that he's afraid exactly. Like he told Istredd, he'd like to be able to go to it with him on this sides of things if he manages to swing it eventually. But in the Horizon he feels closer to normal. Not nearly at full power, but better than he feels in Abraxas proper.

If he goes there and he loses that comfort he'll lose the last tether to his sanity.

And there's Istredd's own theories that the "attacks" to their minds could have been a result of someone coming too close to the Singularity via the Horizon. A reaction.

Lucifer, motion returned to him, rubs a hand through his hair and drags it back over his head, frustration without an outlet. There's wanting to know and then there's knowing there might be a cost and Lucifer absolutely doesn't care about the people here or the planet but when the cost might be a detriment to himself that's where he draws a line.] There are too many unknowns and that sort of thing needs a proper risk assessment before Summoned keep haphazardly potentially making things worse for the rest of us. [For him.]

[ Both eyebrows raise, clearly that wasn't the answer he was expecting from him. ]

We're already changing its realm when we enter that space-- [ Horizon ] -- if there's fear of it reacting to us, then shouldn't there also be some way of asking what it wants?

[ Who's to say these effects they've felt aren't its possibly failed way of communicating with them?

It's a monument made of stone, not unlike the Great Gate. It responded to blood and bone, and the Rifter itself. It may have lacked clear cut sentience, but it wasn't entirely like an un-living thing. It was a holy site, and as all things in Basawar are of his holy body, connected to Parfir.

He doesn't know why he escaped death in the Gray Space to be Summoned here, except by the will of Parfir. It's possible that the Singularity is an aspect of his god, an answer to why he was brought here. But if it isn't...

Abandonment is a worth punishment than death could ever hope to be.
He can't consider it. ]

Edited 2022-08-11 22:26 (UTC)

I'd like to hope someone has already thought to do that. [He has a low opinion about most people, but there's a couple that he's met that have enough sense to them that have been here long enough.

He hasn't been asking the right questions, but then he hasn't been asking many, preferring to be a fly on the wall specifically to the locals until he gets his bearings and his vessel can stabilize to its new normal.] Fat lot of good it's seemed to do if they have. [And maybe they're not asking the right questions.]

[ Or they're not being forthcoming with what they found. In any case, he'd rather trust his own senses. ]

Well-- [ he starts, tucking the book under one arm as he starts to stand, ready to head out. ] -- you were right about one thing, it's been a while since I've had to learn another language. I better get started.

[ He nods toward Lucifer. ] Hopefully I'll eventually find something worth sharing.

[ Best to keep a predator where he can see it. ]

[Inej stares up (and up and up) at the towering temple she's come across in her idle wandering in The Horizon. A breath catches in her throat at the size and breadth of it, but also the care that's been taken to recreate something so breathtaking, so clearly holy, even if she does not recognize those that the statues represent. It's quite unlike any temple she's ever seen before, and she's a bit mystified by it all.

She wanders up the path to the doors, taking in the intricate lunar designs and finding herself drawn further inside, curious, and invited by who she can only assume is the maker of it all.]

Thank you. [She says, her voice soft, as she kneels next to him. She doesn't take a cup, but does take to that invitation to pray. She sweeps a sign across her body and reaches for the necklace she only has when she's in The Horizon, eyes closed as she takes a moment. The only evidence of the private conversation with her Saint is a soft whisper as she invokes the name of Sankta Marya.]

[ She's the first stranger to enter his Domain, and he's surprised how little it bothers him: he's spent so long valuing his privacy, he thought he might feel the presence of someone else like an invasion. Instead he feels glad that he can offer someone else a moment of peace. It doesn't matter to him that they don't share the same prayers. Her faith doesn't impede on his own.

There's something comforting about recognizing another believer.

Seated cross-legged next to her he lets his eyes close, letting a litany of remembered prayers drift over his thoughts. He can recite the words backwards and forwards, but it's always been the images that have the most profound effect to him. The towering figures of Parfir and the Rifter. Only now when he conjures them their faces shift. John. Jath'ibaye. Not a figure standing as tall as he Black Tower, but a man crouched over him.

A thought has come to him before, the understanding that he could attempt to conjure him here, in Horizon - but he felt immediately revulsion and shame at the idea of creating a puppet with his face.

He waits until he feels her shift next to him to speak, not wanting to disturb her peace. ]

Who do you pray to? [ he asks, curious. The whispered name isn't one he recognizes. ]

[She appreciates the time given. His patience. But when she's finished and he addresses her with that question, she smiles.]

Many. [She admits softly.] but today Sankta Marya of the Rock, the patron Saint of those far from home.

[If he has further questions, she'll tell him the story, but she doesn't want to burden someone with unwanted Suli legends.]

[ Many, she says - and it's hard for him to imagine. In theory he understands polytheistic faiths, or those somewhere in the middle that see the many as aspects of a single whole. Not unlike the Rifter and Parfir - but it's only Parfir that he was taught to worship, to send his prayers toward. ]

A saint was once mortal, is that right? [ He tilts his head slightly with the question. ]

Edited 2022-08-26 00:27 (UTC)

Some of them- but not all Ravkan Saints were. Most of them were Grisha, who aren't really immortal but they do live so much longer than otkazat'sya.

[She knows that takes some explaining, so she continues: ]

Grisha are people in my world blessed by the Saints with powers, perhaps similar the way we receive gifts from Singularity here. Except that Grisha aren't as common as the abilities we get here.

Not all Grisha are Saints, but all Saints do seem to be Grisha, based on their individual legends.

[ She's one of the few people here that he's met not from Nayeshi, or at least one he's familiar with - he recognizes none of the specific words from her explanation. ]

Are you a Grisha?

[She shakes her head.]

No, I have friends who are, but I was not chosen for that path.

[For what it's worth, she doesn't sound bitter about it; she trusts her Saints have other plans for her.]

All paths are part of His will.

[ He recites this like agreement. They might not worship the same divine being, but it's more the shared sentiment that matters. He isn't the kind of fanatic that pushes his religion onto others.

Kahlil glances up, past the metal branches and toward the starry glass dome. He continues, softly. ]

The people turned against the Church, in my world.

[She nods a little at that. It is an agreeable point to be made.

It's been so long since she had someone to talk to in such a manner that she isn't entirely sure how to hold the conversation. Forgive her any awkward edges.]

That's always an unfortunate event... what happened to turn them away? If it is not too invasive to ask.

[ It's the same for him. With the Payshmura banned, it was rare to catch anyone faithful under the age of fifty.

Maybe that's part of what drove his unconscious mind to grow this temple. To find others, or even one other person in this world that might be like him in that way. ]

The priests pushed the people too hard. Demanded too much gold and blood, destroyed too many lives trying to root out witches and criminals. There was rebellion against them.

[ He pauses, looking over at her again with a crease at his brow. ]

They were wrong for what they did to the people. But it was the men that were corrupt, not the belief.

[ But he still struggles at that separation. This place might not look like any of the temples in Basawar, but there are echoes of Rathal'pesha in the walls, pieces of himself that are hard to let go of even now. His faith had been a part of his survival for too much of his life. ]

Witches... they call Grisha that, in one of the neighboring countries. There are teams of men whose whole lot in life is to hunt them... kill them... they call Grisha abominations, demons, but the hatred is unfounded, all they ever did was dare to exist, but Grisha captured by the drüskelle stand no chance in their farce of a trial.

["...it was the men that were corrupt..."
She hums a soft noise in the back of her throat at that. She is painfully, personally, intimately aware of that fact herself.

She turns to look at him, features soft, but expression hard to read.]

Two things in the world are infinite: The universe...and the greed of men.

[She'd like to say it was three things, to add faith to that list, but she watched girls in Heleen's grasp drop whatever faith they had in their culture's deities so fast, it's impossible to blind herself to the fact that people lose it all the time. But for Inej, it's one of the only things that's kept her grounded through everything she's lived through.]

[ Unlike the drüskelle it was not his sole purpose to hunt down witches - he'd been chosen for a different path than those priests who dragged men and women down the Holy Road, but he had held the torches and lit the pyres when he was told to. He can smell the black smoke as vividly as he can sometimes remember the blonde dog's words to him during a ceremony of witches and rebels that couldn't have happened -

He forces himself to hold her gaze as she continues, struggling to read her expression. She must be nearly a decade younger than him, but her youth belies something else, hard learned lessons that her words allude to. The greed of men. Kahlil reluctantly nods at that, finally breaking his gaze away for a second to look without looking at the roots of the tree before studying her again, a crease at his brow. ]

You're... welcome to come back here again. Any time. [ It's an offer he feels strangely awkward making. Maybe because he can't ever remember having a place of his own to offer this way. Nothing of his own.

He adds, almost sheepishly: ] I think that's how it works, anyway.

[ Does this place stay when he leaves? ]

[There is a respectful air about him, the sort that rests almost tangible between them, something she finds comforting.

She smiles softly at the offer.] Thank you.

[Her face scrunches slightly and she nods.] It does- these spaces exist whether we're here or not. I suppose...until we're no longer in this world at all.

[ He nods, smiling back at her. Some tension in his shoulders relaxes just a bit. ]

My name is Kyle. What can I call you?

Inej. [She offers in return.] I should hope to see you again soon.

( from here )

[ At least you give your bad news in an almost cheerful way. ]

I could do that. [ Admitted with some reluctance. The idea of putting anything down to paper where someone else might find it goes against his nature. Here, he could maybe get away with writing it in his native language. It's something to consider trying - but if he's being honest with himself, unlikely to actually happen.

He lets out another breath, glancing out the window again. ]

Did you ever remember things that you know couldn't have happened the way you're now remembering? Like having two versions of the same memory in your head, but one thing is changed that makes them different. Or remembering places that you've never been...

[ If that makes any sense. Which, oddly, he imagines it does to Jack. ]

Edited 2022-08-22 22:19 (UTC)

( I could do that; he shrugs. It's just a suggestion, he doesn't actually care whether or not Kyle takes it. No skin off his back, and none of his business.

The more important piece is the follow-up question — one he definitely understands, but that no easy answers manifest themselves for. )

I remember remembering it. ( Does that make any sense? ) But I've forgotten what I remember remembering. If I have to be honest here... I lose a lot more than I gain, you know what I mean? It's complicated.

Edited 2022-08-23 15:16 (UTC)

No, I understand what you mean. I think it's been the opposite for me, though.

[ He went from what felt like a bomb going off in his head to collecting pieces that felt like they didn't belong to him. There were times when he had thought it might've been easier if he never regained his memories. He could've started fresh.

He can't imagine continuing to lose what little he had, though. Kahlil doesn't envy Jack. He respects him, though - and feels for his losses. ]

I hate to say that it's good to find someone else who's been through something similar, but.. [ He gives another tired shrug, an equally weary and humorless smile pulling at one side of his mouth.

Jack probably knows what he means. ]

I'm always called Ravishan in my other memories. But that's not who I am, and I'd appreciate it if you only called my Kyle. [ If he can understand that too. It matters to Kahlil. ] ... also if you didn't share any of this with anyone else.

( Honestly? It is kind of nice to find someone else who's seen the same brand of crazy shit that Jack has. Most people he tells about it think he's nuts, or they don't really understand. They don't get why their skepticism, when combined with his memory issues, feels like a personal and super effective jab.

So he offers up a brief, small smile — perhaps the most sincere one he's given since he got here. )

Who would I tell? You're like the only person I talk to voluntarily.

( And it's not like he can update his blog. But seriously: )

Your secret's safe with me. And... for what it's worth, I don't care if you tell anybody about mine, because nobody cares and they won't believe you.

[ He lets out a huff like a laugh at that first part, his expression softening a bit at the next thing Jack says: ]

I care. [ About this history he shared with him. About Jack. This meeting has been guided by Parfir's hand, he's only becoming more sure of it. He still worries that Jack is too cavalier about his abilities, and that that might bring him to the attention of someone who might seek to abuse that power... ]

Also... you weren't entirely wrong about having a teleporting ninja for a roommate. [ It'd be annoying to prove the 'teleporting' part in a moving carriage, so instead he holds his right hand out, his thumb and forefinger touching. As he pulls the two digits apart, an odd, rippling tear in reality forms in the space between them, a thin line that is the razor-like blade of the Unseen Edge. ]

( Weirdly, hilariously, despite talking completely out of his ass and making things up, Jack is bizarrely right about the strangest things. Call it coincidence if you want, but way too many coincidences happen to him for them to really be coincidental.

For instance: his oblivious mouth being a little too prescient about his mysterious roommate.

Kyle casually rips time and space open. Jack stares.

Squints.

Waits.

When nothing else happens, he ventures, )

I think we might have two different definitions of 'teleport'. Or maybe 'ninja'. What- what is that?

[ He gives a conceding nod, then continues: ]

The edge of something we call the Gray Space. It can be wielded like a blade's edge, or I can make it large enough that I can slip in and out of that space at will. [ He touches his fingers together again, banishing the Unseen Edge. ] Where I come from I can use it to travel almost anywhere I want. Here...

[ He frowns in annoyance, glancing out the window. ] ... there are incredibly strong wards around Castle Thorne that disrupt the currents of the Gray Space. I've tried to navigate around them to see what they might be hiding, but I couldn't get very far. [ Not without crushing himself, or ripping his body to shreds. Maybe another time. ]

They have the same barriers here in Nocwich. [ For whatever that information is worth. ] The worst of them were to the south, southwest.

[ He couldn't say why, though. ]

Edited 2022-08-24 17:22 (UTC)

( Gray Space. )

That sounds... really fucking cool.

( This coming from the perspective of a man who would one hundred percent read a book about something like that. Several books about it. An entire series, in fact. He'd pore over it in like a day and a half. Sure is a shame nothing like that exists. )

Wait.

( Reflection moment - his eyes go a little wide as the implication hits. )

I was right! Suck a DICK, Satan! HA! ( Oop, wait, reverse, quick backpedal- ) Not that you're my bodyguard, and still don't worry about me, but fuck that guy!

[ Kahlil enjoys showing off more than he should, Dayyid never managed to stamp that out of him before he was released from his instructor's grip - so Jack's reaction is exactly the kind of mini ego boost he thrives on.

Of course, he's almost immediately rolling his eyes again, narrowing his gaze at Jack. ]

No offense, but sometimes you make it difficult not to worry about you.

( There he sits after just confessing to his mild insanity, alluding to his mental disorders and his trauma, one four-fingered hand wrapped around a mug that doesn't exist anymore, prosthetic leg grinding into the carriage floor, all hundred and forty (on a good day) pounds of him looking sleep-deprived and oblivious when he says: )

What do you mean?

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( open log ) august catch-all

grand library

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horizon;

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nocwich overflow;

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