this world is a wasteland where nothing can grow
Were he sober, Sunjata's explanation of the gun would have been nothing short of fascinating for Niki, and it's late enough in the night that he stands a chance of remembering it to ask about it later. For right now, though, he merely nods, the description bringing a strange and hazy image to the forefront of his mind, and he's forced to let it go when it doesn't quite make sense. "Sounds dangerous," he mumbles nevertheless, because arrows are hard enough to track through the air as it is.
Wrinkling his nose and recalling once again the stark marble floors and the bold splashes of red against them, Niki glances back towards Sunjata only to find him staring fixedly at the headboard instead. "We're all a work in progress," he mutters. "Isn't that what they say? I don't judge anyone for not bein' able to stay out of it. Especially when I can't seem to do it myself."
Sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes, the necromancer shakes his head after a moment or so. "So much for talkin' about somethin' less morose. D'you want me to think of a different topic?"
Wrinkling his nose and recalling once again the stark marble floors and the bold splashes of red against them, Niki glances back towards Sunjata only to find him staring fixedly at the headboard instead. "We're all a work in progress," he mutters. "Isn't that what they say? I don't judge anyone for not bein' able to stay out of it. Especially when I can't seem to do it myself."
Sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes, the necromancer shakes his head after a moment or so. "So much for talkin' about somethin' less morose. D'you want me to think of a different topic?"
Niki
i used to have strength but i ran out of hope
