[He averts his eye a little, at the raised eyebrow. Out of embarrassment -- but the topic changes. It changes into something more serious. And the averted glance turns into staring down at his hands.]
[It never really ended neatly. Did it. It was still there, lurking at the back of his mind. Like a storm threatening to brew again.]
[One hand slips away, dipping into a fold of clothing, fingers curling around a round bit of metal -- ridged along the edges. Something he'd picked up from the craftspeople around here.]
(No one sees anything wrong with what happened. Just an autopsy, to them.)
no subject
[It never really ended neatly. Did it. It was still there, lurking at the back of his mind. Like a storm threatening to brew again.]
[One hand slips away, dipping into a fold of clothing, fingers curling around a round bit of metal -- ridged along the edges. Something he'd picked up from the craftspeople around here.]
(No one sees anything wrong with what happened. Just an autopsy, to them.)