He sighs in relief, connecting eyes with Signless. He feels ever more like an ass. A better moirail might've known this shit. A better moirail would've worked it out. He should've talked. Next time he'll talk. Maybe after all this is overwith, him and his brother best...
He twitches at the sneer. That ain't fair. That ain't fucking fair and this brother should know upon it. (Being Alternian used to be a spark of pride, not a curse.)
"AIM LIKE A FUCKIN ARCHERADICATOR! Dead and dead. YES I GOT MY GUMPTION ON FOR THINKING SO! Pan's all full up about that unrigteous noise, and tell at you. YOU AIN'T WANT IT UP ABOUT ME, AIN'T GOTTA UP AND BE SO! Bestow balm and mercy all as gets up at in where all to your heart's at. BUT I AIN'T PART! What do I got to do, call you enemy mine before you get the picture? I DON'T WANT YOU TO UP AND HELP ME." He shouldn't say it. But he does. "You know I pitied your future so stop throwing it back at me and spitting on what's left of mine. I LEAVE AT YOU ALONE, YOU LEAVE LONESOME OF ME. Can we make motherfucking accord of that?"
Signless is there. This feels all like spitting the shit familiar. He doesn't like the taste no more and he didn't like it much back then. Guilt brings him down from his brief riling up.
He takes another step back, head down, eyes averted, hands up. Surrender. "AIN'T ASKING A SKEW OF IDEALS FROM YOU NONE. A little motherfucking mercy for memory, aight, that's all I'm asking of."
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He twitches at the sneer. That ain't fair. That ain't fucking fair and this brother should know upon it. (Being Alternian used to be a spark of pride, not a curse.)
"AIM LIKE A FUCKIN ARCHERADICATOR! Dead and dead. YES I GOT MY GUMPTION ON FOR THINKING SO! Pan's all full up about that unrigteous noise, and tell at you. YOU AIN'T WANT IT UP ABOUT ME, AIN'T GOTTA UP AND BE SO! Bestow balm and mercy all as gets up at in where all to your heart's at. BUT I AIN'T PART! What do I got to do, call you enemy mine before you get the picture? I DON'T WANT YOU TO UP AND HELP ME." He shouldn't say it. But he does. "You know I pitied your future so stop throwing it back at me and spitting on what's left of mine. I LEAVE AT YOU ALONE, YOU LEAVE LONESOME OF ME. Can we make motherfucking accord of that?"
Signless is there. This feels all like spitting the shit familiar. He doesn't like the taste no more and he didn't like it much back then. Guilt brings him down from his brief riling up.
He takes another step back, head down, eyes averted, hands up. Surrender. "AIN'T ASKING A SKEW OF IDEALS FROM YOU NONE. A little motherfucking mercy for memory, aight, that's all I'm asking of."