gravekeeper //

“Nahaha! No need to sound so anxious about it, I’m a pro at these things!”

Of course, that was a lie. He had never operated anything like this - but it was a touch screen with character customization! How hard could it be? He had messed around with tons of games like this before, given the number of dress-up game websites that were so easy to get clicks on.

“Obviously you just give it a few clicky-clicks and tappy-taps and it just does everything else for you! Then you get to eat it.”

┆ ┆ ❝ Then you... get to eat it? ❞ he repeats. His eyes narrow, this man must be joking. How are you meant to get this... design out of the computer and into his mouth? His stomach growls as if in agreement with his new friend and he frowns.  ❝ So if I just tap here... ❞

Andrew reaches out and taps on one of the pictures. Suddenly, a completely different screen appears, and he jumps back as if electrocuted.

Andrew’s shoulders hunch forward and he stops, almost stepping on a small, innocent looking flower. He plucks it, and brings it to his nose to smell and remembers about irises and graveyard flowers. A sigh escapes him, and he feels eyes on the back on his head which causes him to straighten his posture. Already on edge, he tenses more.

❝ Who... who’s there?  ❞

❝ You... you’re sure you know how to operate this? ❞ he asks, not wanting to sound too accusatory, but this whole gingerbread cookie lookalike machine does not make any sense to him. 

Andrew doesn’t have much time to contemplate this as his mind catches up with what he’s seeing. Everything he’s seen in his life doesn’t even compare to what he’s looking at now. It’s impossible, improbable, inconceivable.  This girl is... flying? He blinks a few times before he hunches over, almost cowering, and shields his eyes with the back of his hand.  ❝ Aah! What are you--! Don’t come any closer!  ❞

The girl looks friendly -- which may or may not be a good thing, but when he catches her eye he shifts his white-blond hair in front of his lazy eye and looks down.  ❝ Excuse me ? ❞ he asks, very softly, and clearly nervous.  ❝ Do... do you know where... uhm. Do you know where the condos are?  ❞

@mezarinincili​​ asked: ‘ why are you crying? ’ ( x not accepting )

||  █ ▌— edgar frowns and wipes his eyes. he hadn’t expected the gravekeeper to notice, honestly, and his expression quickly turns to one of hostility to mask his embarrassment.

was he being mocked?

❝ i’m not crying, you’re obviously seeing things, ❞ he snaps, wiping his sleeve across his eyes once more before blinking away more tears. what a mess. if there was one thing edgar absolutely despised it was looking weak in front of others. ❝ what do you want? ❞

┆ ┆Andrew is not good at comforting, and his own expression mirrors that of the painter. He rubs his arm and looks down, his hair sticking to his forehead and obscuring half his face.

Though it does look tasty from where he stands, his form hunched and his shoulders raised, he shakes his head. He knows how teenagers are  ╼  creative masters of torment. ❝ I won’t believe you. Where did you even get that?  ❞

It is his goal to get as far away as he could from sounds and bright lights. He doesn’t like what he perceives as unwelcome stares and snickering behind closed fists, and though it may be his anxiety acting up it still feels incredibly real to him.

He doesn’t expect to see anyone on his walk, at least not as deep in the woods as they now are. His eyes squint in the dying light and he ducks himself behind a tree to avoid being seen  — 

The cracking sound that reverberates through the air makes him jump back. He looks down at the offender, a large stick now cracked in two, and winces. So much for not drawing attention to himself.