My Soul Still Burns

Dead is dead, whether it’s now, or a week from now.

makejidamashii replied to your post: It’s-s me-a! McCree-a!

Someone’s just mad they can’t speak Italian. Allow me to introduce you to Duo Lingo.

I can still speak it better than you. 

[ 竜 ] –         He’s left his actual last will and testament behind. It reads that he leaves his sword to the one eyed cat that hangs out near the back of the watch point sometimes and tolerates his presence.

back alley shimbashi, huh? now i’m interested. 👀

…depends. what kind of noodle bar are we talking about here.

 damn.

“Rawhide, that’s a new one” 

         He keeps his footing, his hand dropping from his chin once they lock in, both settling upon his hips. there’s nowhere else to go from here, lest he wants to keep his hands as they are. “I suppose I’m familiar enough. Maybe not the right ones for what I think you have in min, depending on what that is”

He feels too harsh. They grab at each other, corrosive and coarse things. But that’s Blackwatch. That’s the tangled wood they make their shelter. 

“What do you need of me, Genji?”

[ 竜 ] –         A breath would make them touch, but they’re in syncopated rhythms, one off then the other, so it doesn’t quite happen. The cyborg’s hands remain at his side, hanging loose and free without much of an idea where they wanted to go. Or maybe they did, but they chose not to, settling for an idle, minute sway and the twitch of fingers. 

His circuits hum white noise as words roll about his mouth like he’s tasting them for flavor.