the echoes of the thunderclaps
reverberation of the dead
reverberation of the dead
Harper has been too deep in the bottle for seasons - years - now to blame a lack of tolerance or the effect downer-substances on his mentality in the moment Jack turns to him. There is only the steady refrain of please, end it, stop it, take it away.
Flora is a golden spark of familiarity that snuffs out amidst the void between stars, or perhaps the long shadow at Jack’s feet. Had she ever been more than that to Harper? The implication of her feelings can’t distract his wild state from Jack’s shadowed face.
Jack. How funny it comes to this. A stranger, yet a thorn in his side. A man as easy to buy as those nubile bodies in the Dusklight, that is how Harper sees him. It’s hilariously cruel - one last pebble in his shoe - to know that Harper has lost so much he can’t even barter with a man like Jack. Is vitriol enough? Disdain? Is the weight of a con-man’s errant emotions enough to gamble his life on, hoping the coin comes up tails?
“Are you armed?” Would it matter? Any pain will be temporary. He’s already suffered this much. “I have coin and any items y’want at my room if you make it look natural. Or a mugging.” The slur of inebriation pales in comparison to the clarity in his eyes, the pain so deep it bends his knee before someone he should never trust to end it instead of prolong it. “Y’understandin’ me?” Oh, if only he knew exactly how clearly he’s coming through.
Flora is a golden spark of familiarity that snuffs out amidst the void between stars, or perhaps the long shadow at Jack’s feet. Had she ever been more than that to Harper? The implication of her feelings can’t distract his wild state from Jack’s shadowed face.
Jack. How funny it comes to this. A stranger, yet a thorn in his side. A man as easy to buy as those nubile bodies in the Dusklight, that is how Harper sees him. It’s hilariously cruel - one last pebble in his shoe - to know that Harper has lost so much he can’t even barter with a man like Jack. Is vitriol enough? Disdain? Is the weight of a con-man’s errant emotions enough to gamble his life on, hoping the coin comes up tails?
“Are you armed?” Would it matter? Any pain will be temporary. He’s already suffered this much. “I have coin and any items y’want at my room if you make it look natural. Or a mugging.” The slur of inebriation pales in comparison to the clarity in his eyes, the pain so deep it bends his knee before someone he should never trust to end it instead of prolong it. “Y’understandin’ me?” Oh, if only he knew exactly how clearly he’s coming through.
provides the tempo for the song
describing how all things went wrong
describing how all things went wrong
