#jazzkiller

The clinging to his head told the Plant all he needed to know. Sensitive years so young it made sense, and the bruises were a small but mostly insignificant concern. The being hums, a soft sound as soft lights dance around his head, forming soft lines only to circle the boy, giving him a visual distraction, though he had no idea the ever so faint sounds Plants made was heard by the other as well.

He reached a hand up, the gentlest touch over the other's wrist, faint and barely more than a brush of skin. Pthalo's fingers glowed, blue filigree curling up his pale flesh toned arm as he focused on the other's wounds.

The soft song curled and twisted with the lights before the image fades and is hand drops, smiling. The bruises are gone, and as the soft sweet song fades, so too does the violent ringing of the other's ears.

(idr what meme this is but wanted to answer)

Wolfwood glanced over, a smile tugging at his lips seeing one of the only members of this group of psychos he could stand. A little more than stand.

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you, Hornfreak. I'm well aware of what I'm getting into here." The man chuckled, slipping his bandaged hands into the pockets of his suit jacket as he waited. Suffice to say, whatever expectations Angelo had made were quite easily dismissed, he recognized the song of course, the radio channel he listened to in the car he used during missions played it all the time these days. He hadn't expected it to sound good on the saxophone.

"Pretty sure that applies to ALL us freaks, don'cha think?"