Nate
Nate had arrived early to the ascended hideout, figuring for once, he’d be on time. Maybe it meant he’d be out of there sooner, out of the Hollowed Grounds and back home. It didn’t. If anything, it seemed to take longer, every new arrival drawing Nate’s eyes, though he never moved from the corner he was standing in, arms crossed. There were many new ascendeds he hasn’t met, hadn’t seen, and a few who he wanted to avoid, so he kept to his own space, and didn’t speak too much. Finally, Wessex arrived, yet more new ones in tow, three Nate glanced at, after returning the matriarchs greetings, but no one he spared a second glance to. He was sick of waiting, and wanted to be done with this.
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Do I mean anything at all?
