[Oh, Goddess, he's going to be finding these things everywhere, isn't he--]
[But he'll take a look anyway, no matter how much he pretends not to be interested. As though wiping the dust from an old mirror, he runs his thumb over one of the crystals at the arm of the rocking chair. That's Mina in a compromising position. Next. Thankfully, the next is much more interesting.]
[Chibi is sitting at the Pow Wow, cross-legged in the middle of the clearing, shadowed by the stones at its center - grey, emotionless. There is a carved bone knife resting upon his left knee. With face dark, Chibi chants a prayer - not that Qilby can hear it; he's not sure whether the crystal even transmits sound, or whether he can't hear it from the blood rushing in his ears - and sinks the blade into his fifth intercostal space, threading the needle through his ribs like he's somehow practiced it before. Like he knows. Qilby watches as a manolia spirals from the wound, flowering a mottled red-blue over his bare chest, its roots surely winding about his intestines.]
[The crystal is the color of sloth.]
--Ah. Not the most pleasant, indeed. [Qilby's voice doesn't shake, but his jaw is set tight. Seeing Chibi in pain like that was never easy for him - and though Chibi's not showing it, Qilby sees his weary soul was aching - and he wants more than anything to give Chibi's head a shoulder to rest upon.]
[But as the years passed, what happens when you're the one causing all that pain? Perversely, he created the wounds he so desperately wanted to heal. Worth it, but painful.]
Did you find anything of particular interest in here?
no subject
[But he'll take a look anyway, no matter how much he pretends not to be interested. As though wiping the dust from an old mirror, he runs his thumb over one of the crystals at the arm of the rocking chair. That's Mina in a compromising position. Next. Thankfully, the next is much more interesting.]
[Chibi is sitting at the Pow Wow, cross-legged in the middle of the clearing, shadowed by the stones at its center - grey, emotionless. There is a carved bone knife resting upon his left knee. With face dark, Chibi chants a prayer - not that Qilby can hear it; he's not sure whether the crystal even transmits sound, or whether he can't hear it from the blood rushing in his ears - and sinks the blade into his fifth intercostal space, threading the needle through his ribs like he's somehow practiced it before. Like he knows. Qilby watches as a manolia spirals from the wound, flowering a mottled red-blue over his bare chest, its roots surely winding about his intestines.]
[The crystal is the color of sloth.]
--Ah. Not the most pleasant, indeed. [Qilby's voice doesn't shake, but his jaw is set tight. Seeing Chibi in pain like that was never easy for him - and though Chibi's not showing it, Qilby sees his weary soul was aching - and he wants more than anything to give Chibi's head a shoulder to rest upon.]
[But as the years passed, what happens when you're the one causing all that pain? Perversely, he created the wounds he so desperately wanted to heal. Worth it, but painful.]
Did you find anything of particular interest in here?