dancing after death

now take what i offer, straight up the nose, down the throat

it's a bearable bruise on your conscious

She shrugs, and he focuses on her briefly with his ears and his touch, despite his closed eyes. And when she answers, there’s a light frown before he nods to that, pressing his stubbled cheek to the crown of her blond hair. “It does not.” He agrees solemnly, recalling that he had lost his own mother when he was twenty, and it still hadn’t felt like enough time, let alone losing her should he had been the age the boys were. Life would have been different, his father probably would have been successful in turning him into an unfeeling machine. But it had been his mother that had given him the tenderness that made him who he was, and for that alone he was eternally grateful.

The comment of Pim does send a small smile to cross his face, lifting the somberness of it, especially with the light laugh that accompanies it. “We had hounds that did the same to us when we were little.” He rumbles softly, inhaling deeply before he exhales. “I remember running along the courtyard when I was eleven, I think, and my father had sent them all out to try and corral me into the house.” It didn’t alarm him to hear that, and with Phoebe there he was sure they’d be safe.

but don't it feel good? don't you feel calmer?

i am the way and the life in the best looking truth