#portraitofhell

Having someone ogle him and call him fascinating was hardly anything new for Sigma at this point. Honestly, he never truly saw it as an insult—after all, he was indeed fascinating. It simply got tiresome to have heard it so many times now. That was simply par for the course when one was a living anomaly...

Even so, Sigma regarded this stranger with mild interest from over the datapad he held in one hand while another hand rested under his chin. It was mainly because he wondered if something was wanted from him, as he was honestly not in the mood to monologue about the wonder of his existence today. 

It seemed nothing was wanted. It was just some tourism. Sigma gave a small nod back, simply out of courtesy. Though, they quickly caught sight of something not quite...right. No... No, not quite right didn’t- It was wrong. It was all wrong.

What in the world was that thing?

Sigma’s eye bulged almost as much as those of the creature they had made contact with while he froze in horror with his breath still and all color having evacuated his features.

He... He couldn’t be seeing what he thought he was seeing. Talon had some scientific monstrosities in its ranks, but those could not possibly be anything worse than the torment Reaper had been subjected to. Surely, he was simply seeing this incorrectly. 

With a shake of the head and a series of blinks, Sigma attempted to dispel the illusion he was most likely seeing, only to be met with the exact same image when his eyes locked back onto to source of his future nightmares. 

His eyes remained glued to the oddly moving thing, and they remained trapped on where it finally left his sight in full for...he wasn’t sure how long.

The staring was only caught short because of the void of his assistant calling out to him from a small distance behind him, tearing his attention away from what he had just seen. Though, the terror lingered with a hollow feeling in his stomach growing like had eating something off. His assistant could tell before he had even said a single word. 

 @portraitofhell​ || 100 Questions || ACCEPTING

Its a James kind of night. Lets go with James!

James gestures depend on his mood. If he’s calm, or trying to stay calm, his hand gestures and body movements are very controlled and actually very planned. They’re a little stalled because of the constant pain he’s in due to the injury he received from the Eye of Magnus, but he tries not to let anyone take notice of it, hence the planned movements and his movements all leaning more towards his left side instead of his right.

Ugly. 

That was the first thought James had as he looked at himself in the mirror. He had thought to try and make himself presentable. Getting over to the vanity had been a chore in itself, but he was expecting company very shortly. He didn’t think it would take Brelyna long to find Volstaro and bring him to the chambers of the newly appointed Archmage. And while James should still have been resting, for he had only woken from his coma a day before, there was work to be done. And he needed help to do it.

That didn’t mean that he wanted to look as though he had just stepped out of hellfire and brimstone, however. Though that is indeed that he looked like with the burns that covered the entire right side of his body. They went unbandaged, for James insisted that after two weeks they still burned despite the amount of healing they had done. Wrapping them was pure agonizing torture. The only bandages were around his right eye, covering the hole where the seafoam green eye had once been. At least he hadn’t lost both, he thought. At least he was still alive, he thought.

It didn’t change anything.

James passed his good hand over his head, shaved and slowly, but surely growing back from the accident that had caused this mess in the first place. He can’t even bring himself to dress in more than a thin over robe from the pain of his injuries. There is nothing for him to salvage about himself in this...tentative state of healing. And he will unfortunately have to deal with that for now until his burns healed more and his hair grew back. James sat up as straight as he could, trying to gather what confidence he could muster.

Only for one knock at the door to make him cower.

Oh he’d have to work on that.