It was still odd, arm lifting to stare at fingers spread wide. They were used to many moving pieces of themselves, dictated by the crushing hurt of others. Toes wiggled, unable to permeate through concrete that wasn't formed by an extension of self. Something had torn them from the what and made them a who. Were it not such a novel experience they'd be furious, hunting down that audacious being that had somehow managed the impossible.
At the very least the form didn't tire, though time was... an odd concept they were still attempting to properly digest. Why didn't it simply loop? That was the proper way to do things, a cycle that spiraled and coiled, tangling all in the living's memories that sought to bleed them dry.
"Hello, murderer.'
The words are murmured, as if tasting them for the first time. Delightful, actually, that they were the first words they spoke, head turning to follow the familiar form. One that they'd wrapped around and shrouded in the cloying fabric of dread he carried inside him, coaxed it out from the rich soil of madness threatening to smother his mind. They knew him, would always know him.
"Murderer...' Bodies jerked away from them as their form rerouted, following the familiar that had been pulling them for miles. "You look well, how pretty your veneer.'
@withpcnache's James' been invited to tourney
