` TO INVOKE GOD .

       Indie   IL DOTTORE    from   GENSHIN IMPACT .  /  ac Written by  MORDRED, 18+,  and   HIGHLY SELECTIVE.  Rules below.

❝  Are  we  being  purposefully  obtuse  ?  ❞      Fingers  rap  incessantly  against  his  coworker’s  desk,  torso  inclining  forward  almost  as  if  wanting  to  breach  the  distance  between  them    (  As  if  intimidation  would  ever  work  with  his  own,  and  so  he  refrains  ).    ❝  Needlessly  malicious  ?    Is  a  certain  someone  getting  a  sick  thrill  out  of  my  torment  ?  ❞

He  clicks  his  tongue.    ❝  Do  understand  the  orders  you  stuck  your  unflatteringly  nosy  face  in  are  of  crucial  importance,  any  meddling  from  your  part    —    ❞    And  his  expression  twists  at  this  part  of  his  diatribe.    Why  should  he  explain  himself  ?

Such  a  pretty  snarl  you  don  today,  mister  just,  pity  is  that  your  ire  does  not  extend  to  your  bloodied,  dirty  hands.    ❝  Have  I  upset  you  ?  ❞    is  the  loveless  croon,  disappointment  coming  to  blossom  under  the  haze  of  a  derailed  clutch.    [  126,  127,  128,  the  pulse  quickens  ].    (  Why  this  mercy  ?  ).    Eyes  flutter  close  as  a  mouth  carves  a  partner’s  jaw,  it’s  wordless  worship,  soothing  in  the  way  it’s  not,  hopeless  in  the  way  it  has  always  been  known.    (  He  is  no  fool  to  love’s  worth  ).    [  The  body  shivers,  diluted  the  warmth  that  once  clung  to  the  vessel.    The  lethality  in  how  rapidly  his  conscious  is  fading  is  indicative  to  the  need  to  take  immediate  action  in  repairing  the  lacerations  that  blemished  him,  lest  he  be  decommissioned  ].    But  what  for  in  such  kind  arms  ?

Yet  his  laughter  is  still  cruel  in  spite  the  softness,  his  fingers  cling.    (  And  how  does  your  repulsion  wake  !    Is  it  because  it’s  me  ?    Or  is  that  your  uncalled  for  regard  ?  ).    [  HIS  BREATH  QUICKENS  ].    Still  such  a  fragile  thing  we  both  are.

       HE IS TESTED CONSTANTLY by that twisting reflection in reality’s mirror. Familiarity left a few inches to the right from where he could recall last setting it down; Was respect no longer a gift worth giving to that which has put him together?

      The doctor scoffs at the remark, irritability crept into the corner of his voice as he speaks. “We both know due respect is null and void with you,” ( is there a complaint about disrespectful youths somewhere in his mind? Archons, how old he feels ) “Perhaps if you were to listen to my yapping for once, you’d have at least half an idea of how to do your job properly. Ah- But what would I know?”

      Vague gesture accompanies frustration.

      “And what would you find worthwhile? The pursuit of some childish nonsense? Time off to snark your comrades? I say nothing worth while- But when was the last time you pulled your weight, exactly?”

...    The  smile  is  quick  to  fall  from  his  lips  at  the  accusation,  bitterness  embroidering  his  very  tone  in  a  note  more  caustic.    The  downsides  of  being  aware  of  every  itch  and  wound  of  another  was  that  that,  too,  was  returned  in  full.    ❝  Had  I  truly  been  so  imbecilic  and  useless  as  you  have  so  kindly  insinuated,  would  I  not  have  been  deprecated  a  long  time  ago  ?    Oh,  or  are  we  rather  fond  of  defective  things  now  ?    Seeking  to  mirror  yourself  ?    Well,  haven’t  you  done  fantastically  ?  ❞    Ironic  is  that  awful  little  clap  he  gives,  suitably  raised  next  to  his  face  for  effect.    ❝  Who  else  would  have  put  an  infant  as  the  one  in  charge  of  his  most  imperative  of  tasks  ?    Is  that  not  what  I  am  now  ?    A  child  ?  ❞  

Are  we  upset  now  ?      Creature  of  attachment    (  Or  most  sensibly,  pride    /    have  you  grown  that  brittle  boned  ?    Careful,  or  that  vessel  might  just  pop !  ).

But  this  terrible  human  hunger  looks  good  on  you    (  Signora  was  the  fixture  of  the  end’s  new  beginning,  here  from  the  moment  vengeance  took  that  butterfly-like  form  if  one  were  for  prose;  and,  thus,  the  spite  from  loss  is  easy  enough  to  understand  when  one  mistook  longevity  for  permanence    [  Everything  dies  ],  he  is  not  devoid  of  those  principles  ).

But  is  your  grief  genuine  ?    Or  are  you  afraid  of  it  happening  to  you  too  ?    (  It  probably  would  if  he  was  being  honest  ).