[ smooches. no worries!!! i'll always forgive you all as that sounds daunting and horrifying. ]
I know this sounds ridiculous, but is there something else here with us? The noises that happen on Thursday nights have come up a few times in conversation.
This place isn't built for ease. [he starts - but he gets interrupted by a memory, dragging law right into it.
you are a child. you don't know how old. maybe six. maybe eight.
you run down the street, gasping for air as the snow falls thick around you. you're rail thin, you're starving, and you're more exhausted than you could possibly express, but you run, because you have no other choice. it's dark, but you can see just fine. you've always been able to see in the dark.
a man hollers behind you, shouting something about his sheep, and you ignore it as you turn a corner. you're leaving a pretty sizeable blood trail behind you from where this man put a pitchfork through your side. you'd thought it was safe to curl up there for the night, among the sheep, where it's warm, but this man had thought otherwise.
all you can smell is iron.
there's a tavern in front of you, but you can't read, so it doesn't matter what the name is. what's important is there are barrels here that you can hide in, so you do. you climb into one, and you settle down against the wood, covering your mouth with your hand to catch the whimpers trying to escape.
men and women shout and laugh and cheer from inside the tavern, singing and enjoying themselves next to the fire, and you stay here, quiet, as the man with the pitchfork runs by. you hear him for a long time, running down the cobblestone road. you've always been able to hear really well, too. but even with that advantage, you're scared. you're scared because you're dizzy, and you know that if you're caught, the consequences won't be pretty.
so for the first time in a long time, you pray. please. please, you know you're not like the others, but please, whatever is listening - you just want to live through the night.
[ it's a nasty memory to put it frankly. there's nothing about this memory that he likes and there are too many parts of it that he can relate to. admittedly is a different kind pain but one that anyone who has been on the run with the world after them knows...
...and honestly? law isn't entirely sure if he wants to say anything in return. ...should he? it was fair that the avatars know about him but— ]
I didn't realize you were also affected by the same things as us.
[ it is not fun and law doesn't want to push pride more than what he will agree to. nasty memories are generally best left untapped as much as possible.
well, if you asked him, at least. it's...a little awkward but law will place a hand on pride's shoulder. ]
Right, well, I'll leave you to what it is that you do. [ ending a pc in favor of maybe opening another cry ] Be sure to use the bandage if the blood starts up again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Didn't think I asked that often. I just wonder what your limits are.
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...am I supposed to have a limit?
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Obviously not.
[he folds his arms.]
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I know this sounds ridiculous, but is there something else here with us? The noises that happen on Thursday nights have come up a few times in conversation.
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I've heard the noises mentioned, but I don't know what you're talking about. I've never heard them.
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Have any of the others heard it?
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You know hearing that doesn't exactly put my mind at ease.
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you are a child. you don't know how old. maybe six. maybe eight.
you run down the street, gasping for air as the snow falls thick around you. you're rail thin, you're starving, and you're more exhausted than you could possibly express, but you run, because you have no other choice. it's dark, but you can see just fine. you've always been able to see in the dark.
a man hollers behind you, shouting something about his sheep, and you ignore it as you turn a corner. you're leaving a pretty sizeable blood trail behind you from where this man put a pitchfork through your side. you'd thought it was safe to curl up there for the night, among the sheep, where it's warm, but this man had thought otherwise.
all you can smell is iron.
there's a tavern in front of you, but you can't read, so it doesn't matter what the name is. what's important is there are barrels here that you can hide in, so you do. you climb into one, and you settle down against the wood, covering your mouth with your hand to catch the whimpers trying to escape.
men and women shout and laugh and cheer from inside the tavern, singing and enjoying themselves next to the fire, and you stay here, quiet, as the man with the pitchfork runs by. you hear him for a long time, running down the cobblestone road. you've always been able to hear really well, too. but even with that advantage, you're scared. you're scared because you're dizzy, and you know that if you're caught, the consequences won't be pretty.
so for the first time in a long time, you pray. please. please, you know you're not like the others, but please, whatever is listening - you just want to live through the night.
nobody is listening, though. nobody ever is.]
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...and honestly? law isn't entirely sure if he wants to say anything in return. ...should he? it was fair that the avatars know about him but— ]
I didn't realize you were also affected by the same things as us.
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... Not always. Depends.
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well, if you asked him, at least. it's...a little awkward but law will place a hand on pride's shoulder. ]
Depends on what?
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[he says. he's - tense, but at least he doesn't move away? incredible.]
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And those reasons for why you won't be explaining it?
[ no malice in his words, he just wants to know. ]
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[he says, sternly.]
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[ he won't push it beyond that. keep as many secrets as you want pride, law has gotten himself quite a number of them. ]
I was wondering—what happens to the bodies of the people who die here? Are they disposed of in any particular way?
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[he wrinkles his nose under the hood.]
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[ sorry but with the influx of dead people (and soon to be more!!!) ]
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[he is just. stonewalling, sorry law.]
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Right, well, I'll leave you to what it is that you do. [ ending a pc in favor of maybe opening another cry ] Be sure to use the bandage if the blood starts up again.
[ and law will take his leave with a nod. ]
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