01-24-2020, 04:05 AM
[align=center][div style="width:70%; text-align: justify; padding: 1px; font-family: helvetica;"]He watched as she hurried away. He felt a flicker of confusion. What was she doing? He graced Nemhain with a wary glance and inched back a distance for his peace of mind. When Rin finally returned, he narrowed his eyes at the pen and paper in her grasp. Well, now he couldn't play dumb, huh? He felt like a cornered rat.
"Your handwriting sucks," was his immediate reply as he read the paper, face twisting with every word he passed. Perhaps, in another world, he would have taken them at face value and acknowledged that Rin truly was worried about him. In another world, he would have realized how difficult he was being, apologized, and shown her his back.
In another world, others would stop forcing him to comply to their wishes. He never got a choice. Everyone always knew better than him. They did things 'for his own good.' He never had a say. Yes, of course he would call her selfish, he would call her a lot of things in retaliation for the utter garbage she just made him read. Did she honestly think he would believe her?
'I owe you this.' Disgusting. Disgusting. It was disgusting. She didn't care about him, she only cared because it made her feel guilty. She would patch him up and then pat herself on the back for helping someone in need. That was what everyone did. They would gorge themselves on the problems of others then grow sick with guilt and anxiety when they could not solve it. That kind of self-validating kindness made him nauseous.
Well, he'd had enough of this farce. Lemy's eyes flared up with an emotion other than blankness for once, its murky depths igniting with righteous rage. He opened his mouth and--
And--
And deflated.
Gave in. Gave up. Just like he always had. Just as he had when he was a child, just as he was willing to do if his gambit with Phoenix had not worked. "Okay," came his broken whisper of a reply, dulling eyes trailing to his paws. White. Not...
He reached up to his cloak and shrugged it off, allowing the fabric pool near his limbs and cover them. The wind stung at the cauterized gouges, mimicking how his own eyes felt. "Go ahead," he murmured, staring at the tears in black fabric. He started counting the loose threads in his mind, eyes tracing the places he had meticulously patched over the years, invisible to any eyes but his own.
//he has six gashes across his back from where phoenix grasped him and they're sloppily cauterized. some parts are scabbed and not very healed (fleshy/moist) he has burn marks even in places where there weren't any wounds. there's no infection at the moment.
"Your handwriting sucks," was his immediate reply as he read the paper, face twisting with every word he passed. Perhaps, in another world, he would have taken them at face value and acknowledged that Rin truly was worried about him. In another world, he would have realized how difficult he was being, apologized, and shown her his back.
In another world, others would stop forcing him to comply to their wishes. He never got a choice. Everyone always knew better than him. They did things 'for his own good.' He never had a say. Yes, of course he would call her selfish, he would call her a lot of things in retaliation for the utter garbage she just made him read. Did she honestly think he would believe her?
'I owe you this.' Disgusting. Disgusting. It was disgusting. She didn't care about him, she only cared because it made her feel guilty. She would patch him up and then pat herself on the back for helping someone in need. That was what everyone did. They would gorge themselves on the problems of others then grow sick with guilt and anxiety when they could not solve it. That kind of self-validating kindness made him nauseous.
Well, he'd had enough of this farce. Lemy's eyes flared up with an emotion other than blankness for once, its murky depths igniting with righteous rage. He opened his mouth and--
And--
And deflated.
Gave in. Gave up. Just like he always had. Just as he had when he was a child, just as he was willing to do if his gambit with Phoenix had not worked. "Okay," came his broken whisper of a reply, dulling eyes trailing to his paws. White. Not...
He reached up to his cloak and shrugged it off, allowing the fabric pool near his limbs and cover them. The wind stung at the cauterized gouges, mimicking how his own eyes felt. "Go ahead," he murmured, staring at the tears in black fabric. He started counting the loose threads in his mind, eyes tracing the places he had meticulously patched over the years, invisible to any eyes but his own.
//he has six gashes across his back from where phoenix grasped him and they're sloppily cauterized. some parts are scabbed and not very healed (fleshy/moist) he has burn marks even in places where there weren't any wounds. there's no infection at the moment.