full moon rising on the waters of my soul
At Zidane’s words, Amun tapped his prosthetic against the wood of the table. It made an odd clunking sound. An ugly smirk slipped onto the potter’s lips. "Normally." There was a dark sort of humor behind the word, but he didn't say anything further on the subject.
Shrugging, he stilled his hand. "We all need a break from what's important sometimes." There was a listlessness in Amun's tone, and he leaned back, balancing on the back two legs of the chair momentarily. However, at the other man's next question, and when Zidane reached for the prosthetic (which the potter let the other man take), Amun let his chair fall back to the ground with an audible thud, one that drew the attention of the rest of the patrons momentarily. "I lost my hand." However, the potter didn't hide his metal hand.
Shrugging, he stilled his hand. "We all need a break from what's important sometimes." There was a listlessness in Amun's tone, and he leaned back, balancing on the back two legs of the chair momentarily. However, at the other man's next question, and when Zidane reached for the prosthetic (which the potter let the other man take), Amun let his chair fall back to the ground with an audible thud, one that drew the attention of the rest of the patrons momentarily. "I lost my hand." However, the potter didn't hide his metal hand.
amun
