Ben is one of those filthy dead things, but only when he is not in a good mood. he feels things very strong, see, like neither of us has skin. Of course, he actually doesn't, but he does.
WARNING: descriptions o f uhhh sorrow? and anger? and trauma responses.
He only smells bad when he's sad or angry. When he's mad, he makes paper burn and water boil til it's nothing but Ash and Steam. He smells like burning flesh and hair, like chemicals, dust, and the sharp sting of blood. He smells wet and acidic. A bog. When he's sad he smells like rot, mold, algae, and rain. He hides in the bathroom, sobbing, sometimes loud, sometimes soundless. He drags his fingernails against the wall until they bleed and his skin shrivels and blackens. Everyone hates when he's upset because the pipes get clogged, fresh meat turns rancid and maggoty, and more often than not something glass breaks.
But Ben is my best friend. Him and true have been around half my life now (they hate each other though) and when he is happy, Ben smells like heaven. A rosy cherub, my angel boy, sweet, darling, loving brother. I love him so much. I'd be dead and gone with out him.
Ben: either 14 or 30, sometimes way younger though. It's like he can't make up his mind. I don't know.