[ Rust's walls flash up as Gildor scurries away, glass panes that bring with them a sense of remove. Containment. He doesn't need this, especially not now. Shinji, Gildor drinking himself sick, Sam pissing on the laws of nature—none of it has anything to do with Keya. He doesn't need this shriek under his skin at the idea of wresting someone away from death, depositing them back in a pool of their own cold blood.
Singling Keya out like that.
His only lasting thought is of the scene, what state Sam Wilson and his good—if that's what they were—intentions left it in. Matted grass, extraneous blood, whatever the fuck else. ] (Well.) [ Anger clenched tight in the word. ] (I'm glad I beat him to her.)
[ At the offer—the intimation, the reminder that Gildor sought him out—he carefully drops the shielding. Kaji's question to Casiria still gnaws at him, the notion that the symbiote could latch onto truth like anything else. ] (Yeah, I think I do.) [ His eyes are on Gildor's hands. ]
no subject
Singling Keya out like that.
His only lasting thought is of the scene, what state Sam Wilson and his good—if that's what they were—intentions left it in. Matted grass, extraneous blood, whatever the fuck else. ] ( Well. ) [ Anger clenched tight in the word. ] ( I'm glad I beat him to her. )
[ At the offer—the intimation, the reminder that Gildor sought him out—he carefully drops the shielding. Kaji's question to Casiria still gnaws at him, the notion that the symbiote could latch onto truth like anything else. ] ( Yeah, I think I do. ) [ His eyes are on Gildor's hands. ]