In combat, there are no winners.
The victors just happen
to lose less
than the vanquished.
Independent fandomless OC,
triggering content,
watch your step!
To say she has never thought back to that particular creature would be a lie. While it did not occupy her mind in the shape of fearful concerns of bitter dreams like it had when she was a child, nowadays it only made the occasional appearance whenever she walked too close to the forest. And of course, every couple of years when she took the book out and reinforced the seal as well. Should it hold a special place in her memories? It was the first entry into her priceless collection, after all. The first of many evil ayakashi and corrupted spirits that she chose not to purify or banish, but rather to carefully stash away. For a rainy day.
Her first thought upon seeing it now after nearly a decade is largely unremarkable. It looks smaller than she remembers. Outside of the fact that it’s more starved now than it’d been then, and even taking into account the distortion that comes with heavy trauma on a young child’s mind. What had once been a beast seemingly built from the fear of men, every shift revealing another eye that would bore hungrily onto her, looks closer to a carcass now. Hatred guides its focus to her, but some of its eyes open and close without ever landing on her form. If she so wished, she could count the number of teeth in its snarling, drooling maw, something that seemed impossible back then. Most notably, there is no pressure. The foul energy it exudes might lash at everything within the barrier, but to her, it does little more than rustle her clothes.
She feels nothing. No fear, no thirst for revenge. Well. Nothing might be a little harsh. There is something. Something she isn’t quite expecting: a sense of gratitude. Their encounter had certainly been a lesson, opening her eyes to more than the existence of highly dangerous and cunning ayakashi at arm’s length. She’d seen both Onmyouji who treated their contracted spirits like nothing more than tools to be replaced once their usefulness ran out, and - albeit much more rarely - those who treated their servants like comrades. Those are not options available to her. Her path will always be a rift carved out just for her right in the middle, isolated from either side.
Legitimate children, whose lineage was carefully planned and nurtured, have the power of choice. They are made to grow into oaks, with strong roots and outstretched branches. In comparison, she is a mere reed. But where they are raised for greatness, she has built herself for survival. She will weather any storm that comes her way. Even if they salt the earth and poison the waters, she’ll live to see another day. A highly functioning mixture of despair and spite kept her going, standing alone against centuries worth of unbending traditions.
It slips her mind for a second. Had she been so engrossed in the nostalgia of her horrid past to overlook the single most meaningful change in her life? In her soul? She is not alone anymore. The price does not matter. And while she stood fearless before the literal monster of her childhood nightmares, watching Nova place himself between them is more comforting than she would like to admit.
The beast finally shifts its focus to the much smaller target, its many eyes turning towards Nova two or three at a time. A heaving sniff of the air and its hackles raise, jaw clenching tightly before it unleashes a violent roar. The splitting sound does not penetrate the barrier, but it makes the trees around them shake violently. It can sense Nova’s otherness. There is no life in that dark vessel for it to feed on. But it is standing in front of a meal eight years in the making. And maybe it is the starvation that somewhat blinds the creature to the fact that it is the one being served to sate another’s appetite.
It is not relief, for it was never really a burden, that comes with the knowledge of this master already having come into her own. But the calm confidence they share of the things she could easily handle on her own gives him more freedom to act, and in a way that had been obvious from the start: This time around he is not a shepherd, but a hound.
Maybe the form he had taken had been influenced by her even before they met. What she needed, what she desired, what suited her (and by extension, him) best.
It had not been an active choice on his part, it never is. His bodies come naturally to him, he knows what they will be without having to decide on anything, and they never feel wrong.
This time, he is not to protect or guide her path. She will continue to uncover it on her own, she knows its direction well –– and as such, the obstacles and dangers waiting along it. No, this time his purpose is to push ahead and clear the way, another weapon at her disposal when she already owns an array. A lethal spear for a chance at the hearts of her biggest foes, and a companion when times were quiet.
Truly, he does not need to bother with a creature like this when she can likely serve him its soul on a silver platter, peel away the physical and magical layers housing it in a mere instant. But this is a chance to demonstrate himself to her, to even –– if only just a little –– the imbalance of knowledge between them. She has granted him access into not only her mind but her soul, and now there is nothing about her that he cannot taste; but the same is not true the other way around.
So maybe it is a bit like taking a newly adopted animal out. Going for a walk together. Playing. Bonding.
A violent roar shakes the earth beneath his paws, as he takes the first step forward, lowers his head and chases across the trembling blades of grass. A clawed limb flies at him, and another. The eyes covering them roll to follow his movement, but he is small and nimble, dodging a misshapen tail before pouncing and sinking his teeth into its haggard fur.
No blood flows out when he is thrown off with a jerk, for neither of them are made of real flesh; only shadows spill into the air when a clawed hand collides with his side, the same way dust would scatter when beating out a carpet. He twists to bite again, lets go only the third time the thrashing limb drives him into the ground, and jumps out of the way of another swipe.
It is hard to bite, in all its flailing. Unlike his previous victims, this one does not have a throat to go for, does not succumb with a well-placed blow. But in turn, it cannot truly damage him, its efforts no more effective than trying to hit a bag of feathers and air.
In the crooks of its seemingly jointless limbs, the places his fangs had sunk into have turned as black as him. Soon enough, their speed falls behind the rest –– but almost half of them is already consumed by the void before the creature even notices.
Your size may be a bit of a problem, after all.
He cannot eat that, and he doesn’t want to, either. What he wants is its soul, its magic –– its large body is merely in the way of that. Even with the darkness slowly covering its body, paralyzing more of its limbs, he cannot deliver a killing blow in this shape. Of course, his master could, but what would be the point of that if they came here to put on a show?
Another tail swipes him off the floor and this time he does not dodge. His shape wavers, like adding too much water to an ink painting; stretching and tearing its limbs and body. When his maw opens, so does his body, a single, fluid movement; splitting him down the middle to reveal no blood nor organs, only more pliant shadows. Freed from their confines, instead of bone, appears a weapon –– not quite a spear, but close. A splintering pole and a stained, curved blade –– a halberd the likes of which one would hardly find even in this country’s larger museums, betraying his origins maybe even more so than even his body. The dark mist begins to reform, waves of pitch fur and feathers rolling over Nova’s silhouette as he bends to catch the weapon in his maw, which seems to obey gravity more than he himself in that moment.
Yet before his teeth can close around it, a claw the size of the blade itself tears through his head, which scatters like mist upon impact, barely affecting the rest of his body at all. Instead, a paw stretches, forms into a hand before parting, again, in the center –– middle and ring finger splitting cleanly to the elbow, then the shoulder. By the time his body hits the grass again it owns three legs, two arms, and no head.
Appearance matters not, after all, if there are no humans watching.
( He doesn’t need such theatrics, of course, but maybe this would answer his master’s questions about how demons, or at least this particular demon, feel about their physical forms better than any amount of words. )
Firm your stance, master. This will take but a moment.
Words of unspecific warning echoing in her mind, he himself not sure how justified they are. It has been a long time since he has been around others, longer still since he last took hold of this blade, and it is different from how he remembers. Its condition has deteriorated further even as it laid dormant, but he suspects there is little to be done about that for now, even with the abilities of his witch.
The creature before him hardly moves, all but suffocated by the consuming darkness. Even the eyes that have not been outwardly touched yet have become black holes, for the curse also spreads from within, but even blindness only seems to fuel the flames of its rage. Strong hinds push him off the ground, out of the way of one of its last mobile limbs and high into the air, placing him well above the center of its body.
From there, he does not attack. For a creature like that, this weapon requires no swinging nor cutting.
Instead, he simply lets go.
It falls from his hand, slowly at first then picking up speed, straightening out as it follows gravity head first toward the ground.
The moment it meets the creature, for just a single, mistaken glance, the steel of its blade seems to gleam brighter as if catching the sun, and –– nothing happens.
It does not cut, it does not pierce –– instead the ayakashi’s body parts, disintegrates around it, similar almost to how Nova’s had before, only less… voluntarily.
The moment of silence is absolute. No bird is calling that second, no cicada twitches. The trees stand still without a single twitching leaf, even the monster does not roar at the intrusion.
The halberd, in its entirety, passes clean through and leaves nothing in its wake. Without touching the corrupted spirit even once, not its body, nor its magic, it hits the ground.
That moment, its power explodes outward with such force the paper seals along the trees flutter as if gripped by the hands of a tornado, but they do not break. In the flash of pure, erasing white, he cannot see Alice but he feels her, and he feels her feel it. The birds, the trees, the grass remain still and unmoved as the magic passes through them, but not her. Maybe the heads-up had been called for, after all.
It would not harm her, of that he was certain, but she has a considerable amount of magic reserves with her. It’s unlikely something like this will pass straight through someone so attuned without any effect.
Before Alice’s heart has time to finish a beat, though, the gust has passed. In front of her lays a green meadow, grass and trees swaying gently in the breeze. There is no ayakashi to been seen or felt, no matter which of her senses she calls for, no trace of its energy or soul, no direction it could have gone.
It simply stopped existing.
In its place sticks the halberd, its blade buried no more than a few inches in the soil.
And next to it, a lanky black borzoi. For a moment it stares at her, eyes white and empty as the flash that had consumed her senses –– before he nudges his nose against the splintered wood and the weapon vanishes in its spot, followed by a quick shake of his fur. As he turns to trot towards his master, the pale blue orbs have already returned.
I do hope this is not considered cheating.
Once back at her side, he sits and looks behind him, following her gaze across the field. He can tell that she can tell something has changed, but he does not blame for taking a moment to figure out what, considering what had just transpired.
Instead, think of it as one of the many advantages I come with. It won’t be this useful against every foe, but for a certain type of creature it is very effective.
Casting his eyes toward the sky, then the trees and the seals on them –– he had been curious about whether they would be affected. There is no reason they should have torn, except maybe for the sheer force. But he has never tested the effect of such similar yet different magic on each other. He wonder if anyone ever had.
The scraps of paper sway peacefully now, together with the leaves. The grass dances at his feet, the way it had done when they had arrived, maybe more so.
There’s an ethereal quality to the scene before them, a soft vibrancy to every leaf, every bird carrying the celebration of life in its song. Everything is –– just so, that it will cause doubt for only a moment. That it seems like a dream, the opposite of the way her fear and trauma had distorted the forest in her memory. It feels like a fantasy, yet it is real.
It has been a long time since he’s seen it, too.
Bathed in the warm glow of sunlight as if it was sacred, and alight with nature’s pulse beating calm and pure in the hearts of every plant and animal. A space purged of all corrupted energy, not just the one spirit’s; no lingering decay, nor ill will rested in this soil anymore. No ayakashi, no demon would be able to set foot here for a long time, even if the barrier itself were to wither one day. Without someone willfully disrupting the seals, though, it was sure to outlast Alice’s mortal body.
He will never be sure how many of his decisions are truly his own. If the choices he makes, the whims that occur to him, appear naturally or are subtle influences fed to him through their bond. It doesn’t bother him, of course, his life, his existence, is simply of that nature. He is a servant, tied to his master willingly, and he looks up at her again, waiting for her reaction.
A judgement of his abilities, his approach, the result. They have delivered the retribution her heart may or may not have wished for, and left in its wake was the safe haven she had envisioned, but never truly believed in.
I hope the blade did not take too much of your darkness with it.
A joke, yet honest. They are not out to do evil, but he prefers his masters willing to compromise. Not that there is need for worry, her being quite capable at shielding herself against outside influence.
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He wasn’t sure what kind of answer he’d been expecting. Not because of his difficulty understanding women, but because of difficulty with other humans in general. Surely, others would have handled all this very differently. Would have scolded him for returning to the milk as soon as they came home, leaving her alone to settle in turn.
They would have convinced him a young woman who just went through an experience like she did should not be left alone, that one should stay by her side to ease her fears and troubled thoughts.
They would also tell him that witches were soulless creatures that only pretended to act and feel like humans, that they were an evil that needed to be purged from the lands.
When Alice told him she was fine, he simply looked at her small, quiet smile for a moment before nodding and continuing on his way, to shut the doors he’d left open when his arms had been full.·
He believed her because she was not a sheltered young maid, nor a lost little girl. She was stronger than any woman he had met, not just for her magic, but also for the knowledge and skills she had honed in herself; and most importantly, he trusted her word. If she told him she was fine, he accepted that as what she wanted him to know.·
He might be a fool for trusting the voice of a witch, but it was already her·roof under which he started sleeping a long time ago, her·walls he lived in and her·gardens he looked after.
Her·eyes he saw first thing every morning, flashing brilliant emerald before any plant could have the chance.
And those very eyes followed him now, he could feel their warm yet sharp gaze rest on him but ignored it, pretending to not notice while she also didn’t speak her mind –– until he closed the last door and turned to face her once more.
“I’m not hurt,” he answered, not with a trace of indignation or hurt pride but rather faint confusion. He honestly did not see himself that way, even following her eyes down the length of arms and legs did not cause him to understand what she saw; only bruises and scrapes that he didn’t·consider injuries.
Lingering by the doorway for a few more seconds, the witch, however, did not wait for him as she began to prepare the table with bandages and salves.·
Despite what he’d said his injection seemed to have been ignored, so he quietly followed the gesture to sit, idly looking over his hands and arms for any scratches she could consider needed attention.
In the end they really were nothing, still she made sure to clean the dirt and blood from every scrape her sharp gaze could find –– the salve she used on them held an unfamiliar smell, and he spent most of his time sitting there trying to pick out the most noticeable ingredients.
To her question about concerning injuries he merely shook his head –– hadn’t had any of that·sort in a long while –– pale eyes only finding hers again when she asked him to take off his boots.
He didn’t mind, only nodded before leaning down, unlacing the left one first and putting it aside before working a bit more slowly on the right one. Still, he was not overly careful as he slipped his foot out –– it had gotten twisted, not broken, the swelling hadn’t had time to get too bad yet in its leathery confines.
Still, it was a little weird for her to sit on the ground before him, even with the clear intentions between them –– it did not seem right, even if he hadn’t·had the knowledge of her hidden royalty. Even with how comfortable his new little life, built on a lie, had become –– he hadn’t ever considered them as equals.
At the same time, it was only natural that she wouldn’t care. For all the wealth of forbidden knowledge she had over him, this·piece was his to bear.
Once she was done and began to rearrange everything on the table once more, he carefully leaned down to brush his fingers over the bandages on his right foot, running down the tingly cold feeling left by the salve she’d applied.
Before he could reach for his shoes she had already done so, and he could only watch her back as they’re carried away to be replaced with the lighter house shoes.
“Thank you,” he said quietly while accepting them from her grasp, only for her to echo the sentiment right back at him, along with a question.
How?·
His gaze lingered on the shoes as he put them on, wondering for a moment about how to reply –– before realizing that the question was not how he found·her, but how he knew·to find her, which was, thankfully, the easier one of the two.
“..Everyone knew,” he eventually replied, looking up to meet her gaze. He felt like he shouldn’t have to explain –– she of all people would know what he meant, after all, without having to put it into words.
Still, she asked him, so he would do his best to answer.
“All the animals knew, even the ones here, on the farm. You could feel it in the air. The forest was not very subtle in its anger,” he continued, before stopping for a moment to gaze toward one of the windows facing the woods.
“But they rarely are, I suppose.”
“For just a few hours, stay out of trouble, okay?”
ALTERED CARBON; S01
Silence.
There was no reply, of course not. She had not expected one, knew not to, but also knew to tell when she was being quietly acknowledged and when completely ignored. It was a feat of perception she alone seemed to have mastered, whether it be by everyone else’s lack of skill or interest, not that it had proven exceedingly helpful so far.
Right now, it was hard to tell. At least for Raphael it was –– maybe he had heard her, maybe not, he wasn’t sure, his thoughts were elsewhere. They had followed his gaze, to the window and beyond, and there was little else that registered in that moment. Then again, how would it, with all this fog? Someone hadn’t closed the window properly and now the mist had come inside, thick wafts obscuring everything. He would be the last one to complain, but it really could not be in their best interest –– though he had long since stopped questioning the things they did or did not do.
A touch to his arm had him whip his head around, a corner of the now-closed book whose cover he recognized poking into his flesh. His eyes lifting from the bold title to a pointed emerald stare, he meets it indifferently, the silence between them holding for a bit longer until the woman sighs, gracefully accepting inevitable defeat once again. “I said stay out of trouble. I’ll be back soon.”
This time he’d heard, but still her effort was not graced with any sort of response. It was barely met with conscious thought on his part, eyes already wandering back to the shifting layers of mist. As far as he could tell, he had never done anything to cause trouble. Other people would try to involve him in things he had no interest in –– they were the ones causing trouble in his eyes. Like all this fog. He hadn’t let it in. He wasn’t responsible for this mess.
It’d hopefully clear out on its own eventually. He had already stepped on old Mrs. Miller’s glasses earlier –– which he, trying to recall it now, had gotten in trouble for, although she was the one who had dropped them into white oblivion in the first place.
By the time he turned around again to watch the blonde go, she had already long since disappeared. Mr’s Miller was looking his direction, but he knew for a fact she couldn’t see him, nor the catalogue spread over her lap. Why she had that, then, he couldn’t fathom.
Probably because she was crazy. Maybe crazy people also didn’t care about fog.
“Expect nothing. Only then can you be prepared for anything.”
“Have you always been such an asshole?“
“And how do you decide who deserves to die?“
“I have to admit that I have a grudging admiration for you.”
“Sometimes I come up here when I have decisions to make or difficulties to face.”
“I don’t know… how to be in this world without you.“
“Peace is an illusion. And no matter how tranquil the world seems… peace doesn’t last long. Peace is a struggle against our very nature. A skin we stretch over the bone, muscle, and sinew.”
“This is not how normal people start the day. Coffee, cereal maybe. Toast. Maybe even toast with another person…”
“All this trust is just making me tear up.”
“I’ll never see her again, not even to say goodbye. Do you know what that’s like?“
“What the fuck? What did you do to my goddamn door?“
“See, friends are overrated, ‘cause eventually, someone will come along and shoot ‘em. You’re better off alone.”
“You twirl your fingers when you’re nervous, you know that?”
“If I were afraid, would you save me, [NAME]?”
“We stick together, [NAME]. Never face the monsters alone.“
“For just a few hours, stay out of trouble, okay?”
“You look so thin. Are you eating enough?“
“There are some things you can’t kill your way out of.”
“You should know there’s nothing I won’t do. Nothing, if it will save you.“
“Divide et impera.“
“When everyone lies, telling the truth isn’t just rebellion. It’s an act of revolution. So think carefully when you speak it, because the truth is a weapon.”
“I told you before, we’re not friends. I don’t owe you a goddamn thing.”
“Don’t talk to me again unless you have something useful to say, okay?”
“The guards’ll be fine. Well, except for the broken jaw and shattered leg.”
“I could get you a car if you’d like. Or you could stay a while. With me.“
“I believe I’m the one offering to do the saving. Think about it. But don’t take too long. We’re running out of time.”
“You know, it’s getting easier to imagine putting holes in you every time you open your mouth.“
“I appreciate that you are no quitter. But there is a time for letting go.“
“Stay with me, [name]. Hey! Hey, I’m talking to you.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s fine. Just concentrate on staying alive.”
“Hey, hey. Stay awake! Stay awake! Open your eyes!“
“This is what you do, love. Stride across the centuries, and death follows, churning in your wake.”
“Love isn’t finite. Maybe life shouldn’t be either. Maybe we should keep living, forever.“
“How could you believe that I would shoot you?”
“I cannot speak for you, my friend, but I am here to kick great amounts of ass.”
“I hate it when you’re smug.“
“The danger of living too long: you forget to fear death. We dismiss the Grim Reaper as a quaint metaphor. But fearing death… it’s good for you.”
“I missed you so much.“
“This is the weakness of weapons. They are tools to kill and destroy. They are not what gives you power. You are the weapon. You are the killer and destroyer.”
“I don’t wanna die. I wanna live. I want us to see a million tomorrows.“
“That’s the hardest thing to get used to. Nothing survives. Nothing but us.”
“You look good. I could have sworn I broke your back.”
“So, what? I just… forgive you, like nothing’s happened?”
“Whatever you think was happening between us… it didn’t matter. It meant nothing to me.”
“Throwing blades is an excellent way to increase one’s hand-eye coordination.”
“I think your relationship with honesty is passing at best.”
“Do you love me? It’s not a complicated question.“
“I’ll burn every one of them down, if that’s what it takes to bring you back to me.”
“I can’t ever expect your forgiveness.“
“You got a lot to lose. I don’t. Why don’t you listen?”
“I don’t see the point in going through this sober.”
“Fair is for dead men and losers.“
“You can say goodbye later, when one of us is dead.”
“You lied to me. To me, [NAME]. The only person who’s ever truly loved you.”
“It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”
“I skipped over worry and went straight to full-on panic.“
“I’ll never give you up. If I ever give you up my heart will surely fail…”
“It’s time for you to evolve. Transformation is always painful. But I changed to make myself stronger. You can, too.“
“This is real power. Cutting away the things that make you weak one at a time. Embrace that power. Be on the winning side.”
“They were raw material. A means to an end to get the respect I’m owed.”
“You’ve become everything we fought against.”
“The look on her face. The look on her face when I pulled the trigger. It was almost relief.”
“I may be many things, but I am not a murderer.”
“We have ruined each other. Haven’t we?“
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Text [ 01:07 ]: he….what?
Text [ 01:07 ]: and I thought he had potential…..LOL!
Text [ 01:08 ]: did he have strong and firm muscles or were they disappointing too? :3c
Text [ 01:14 ]: what is the point if they dont get any use
Text [ 01:14 ]: i only dated him for his dogs anyway
Text [ 01:16 ]: want me to pick up anything on the way back?
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Drew’s eyebrows knotted slightly in confusion, face lighting up a little as he understood the reference. Bread in his jar, now that was funny. ❛ Thanks man, sometimes I do wonder what I am doing here. ❜ he chuckled amused, it wasn’t the first time they compared him to the song and in this time he had started it after all.
❛ Maybe… I don’t know, learning a new skill? Painting? ❜ he chuckled shaking his head as he drank a little more. He didn’t know what to do with himself either, and he believed he was too old now to pursue a life as a famous musician of sorts. Some would tell him otherwise but he felt his soul to weight too heavy to even try. ❛ I mean, spending time here is not bad. Time flies, the least you expect it, we’re closing. ❜
Drew’s gaze went around again, smiling over the colorful objects hung around the place. Chistmas of course, it had to be Christmas for Haze to be double the jolly. ❛ Talking about closing, I think we might close earlier. Larry’s got to go to his family, Tom to his… No Christmas party to go for you? ❜ Drew paused, realizing that maybe he went too personal and he winces. ❛ Sorry, I don’t mean to pry ❜
That suggestion actually earned Drew a look. Not a sideways glance or observant stare, the likes of which were plenty, but a full on turn of Rapha’s head, raised eyebrows and all.
“Painting? Better not,” he replied, a trace of amusement on his lips as he shook his head and turned back. “I may be many things, but certainly no artist.”
He could scrawl up some schematics maybe, a basic map, but everything that involved more than lines was something best left to other people.
Raphael didn’t even dare try to imagine it. Instead, he was about to pick up on what the man had said right after, except he was beaten to it.
The question did surprise him a bit, not for the reason the other had feared, but rather because it had seemingly come completely out of nowhere for him. He’d never even considered –– but it was appropriate, wasn’t it? Christmas was near, it was almost expected to have plans for it.
“No, it’s fine,” he was quick to assure the other, a slight shrug of his shoulders accompanying the words. “And no, nothing for me. Not a big fan.” Of parties. Or Christmas. “What about you, then? Got somewhere to be?”
The other had asked first, so he might as well ask back –– not that he’d be offended if the man refused to answer. It was quite personal after all, he supposed.
“If not, it’s always a nice time for a walk.”
🌌 - suffering from blunt force trauma ( a hard punch to the face, hit with a bat, etc )
🔪 - suffering from a stab wound
🔑- sitting on the ground, wheezing & coughing
💔 - crying & taking their rage/sorrow/etc out on a wall with their fist
✴️ - trying to tend to bad burns somewhere on their body
📢 - having just been in a fight & is now dizzy, ears ringing
⬇️ - throwing up from a sickness or injury they have
⛓ - chained to a wall/floor/ceiling & beaten bloody
your ribs are gone, hallowed and dusted. im terribly sorry for your loss. maybe one day you'll find your heart again. i surely hope you do, because it really is a comfort to hear the rush of your blood after its long absence. you might think that rocks and twigs, bound and stitched together can replace your pieces, but the only thing that actually will is your own pieces, or ones borrowed from others (with their permission, of course)
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The good news is, the Marines successfully repelled an attempted ambush by some taliban fighters. The bad news is, doing so entailed exchanging gunfire -- which isn't really "bad news" to any 03-type Marine, unless, of course, during said exchange, a Marine finds himself on the receiving end of hot brass. And so, later on that evening, when everything's calmed down, Stiney approaches Rapha, an ugly burn on his forearm. "Hey, man... you got any bandaids or anything? Shit stings."
Another day, another load of dust –– and bullets –– has passed, and he’d just found himself a nice spot to shut off for a bit when a familiar face makes its way over.
Well. A more familiar face than all the others.
Honestly, watching Stine walk up to him at the end of the day has started to feel a lot like a puppy greeting you upon coming home from work, not that he’d actually know what that felt like. Probably because the kid occasionally honest-to-god looks like he’s happy to see him, and Rapha was pretty sure that’s something only a dog would be able to pull off.
He also has the kicked puppy look down perfectly, that’s for sure.
Eyes following the man as he approaches, they then drop to the burn presented to him, delicious raw pink caked with dust.
“Mhm, well,” he hums in reply, pulling a dying roll of zinc oxide tape from one of his pockets. “Unless you were hoping for, you know, band-aids with animals on them.”
While waiting for the other to accept or decline his offer, he’s quick to start playing around with it in his fingers, blinking slowly.
“I guess I could draw some animals on it if you wanted to. I’m probably the worst artist out of everyone here, must be worth something.”
Don’t worry, Stiney. He won’t draw you a monstrosity deformed enough to scare the Taliban off. He’d probably just do a snake. He can do snake. It’s just two parallel lines and a head; what could go wrong, right?
