"IT WILL," He assures, nodding. "I'm pretty motherfuckin used to it, by now. AIN'T LOST QUITE SO MUCH BEFORE--" Even if a tongue seemed to feel like more than a leg. "--BUT ALL STILL." Rolling on past mark of harm was something preferred. He's got hope they'll work on past everything else too. That hope he knows will be dashed soon enough.
So he takes advantage of the comfort now. Like things as like this, what he could never get away with on Alternia, but are real nice here, no one batting a goddamn lash.
"No shit?" He says. "THAT'S GOOD YOU GOT STICKING DOWN, YO." He could mention what it feels like, and what it doesn't. A gap in the memory most clear, but a sense of ill. A sense of being so damn hungry it hurts like nothing else. Sam'll be just fine not knowing that.
He shrugs on back. "Was one of your first times." He's assuming. "TOOK ME A PERIGEE AT TO GET IT DONE RIGHT. I'd always forget as to take the head off or strike 'em down in the dirt. LET ME TELL YOU, ON IN MY HIVE WHILE I WAS KICKING IT IN THE RECOOPERACOON, I LET A DAYWALKER GET RIGHT UP IN MY MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS. Had to scramble bare-ass to get a cull on without my clubs near. WEREN'T NO KIND OF PRETTY, FOR TRUE, HAHA." He'd screamed. He'd screamed fuckin loud. Had to his coon out for getting out the blood and sleep dry.
It's a light story. Or, he thinks it is. He hopes it shakes Sam of some of that guilt. Motherfucking deserve such things when he'd done not but good. "It's chill, brother. NOT EASY TO TELL DEAD FROM DEAD WHEN'S THEY'S IN REST." And besides, when he'd called for the deal, he'd entrusted Sam with a thing much worse than a rogue daywalker. This wasn't on him. But it's nice to know it was remembered. "Just glad I didn't eat you." Or Albert. He's grateful for that alone. He still needs to find the man. They promised to paint...
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So he takes advantage of the comfort now. Like things as like this, what he could never get away with on Alternia, but are real nice here, no one batting a goddamn lash.
"No shit?" He says. "THAT'S GOOD YOU GOT STICKING DOWN, YO." He could mention what it feels like, and what it doesn't. A gap in the memory most clear, but a sense of ill. A sense of being so damn hungry it hurts like nothing else. Sam'll be just fine not knowing that.
He shrugs on back. "Was one of your first times." He's assuming. "TOOK ME A PERIGEE AT TO GET IT DONE RIGHT. I'd always forget as to take the head off or strike 'em down in the dirt. LET ME TELL YOU, ON IN MY HIVE WHILE I WAS KICKING IT IN THE RECOOPERACOON, I LET A DAYWALKER GET RIGHT UP IN MY MOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS. Had to scramble bare-ass to get a cull on without my clubs near. WEREN'T NO KIND OF PRETTY, FOR TRUE, HAHA." He'd screamed. He'd screamed fuckin loud. Had to his coon out for getting out the blood and sleep dry.
It's a light story. Or, he thinks it is. He hopes it shakes Sam of some of that guilt. Motherfucking deserve such things when he'd done not but good. "It's chill, brother. NOT EASY TO TELL DEAD FROM DEAD WHEN'S THEY'S IN REST." And besides, when he'd called for the deal, he'd entrusted Sam with a thing much worse than a rogue daywalker. This wasn't on him. But it's nice to know it was remembered. "Just glad I didn't eat you." Or Albert. He's grateful for that alone. He still needs to find the man. They promised to paint...