Always running his mouth, yeah he's got a few scars
Nate seemed to shift and swell within himself now, words barely contained keeping parts of him moving like an electric charge, never actually still despite the deep stillness of his chest, the way his eyes refused to move away from the strangers face, refused to blink. He wondered, distantly, if the other man would leave, would run away. If he would follow. Nate had wanted peace, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction that came from dragging fear out of others.
The next stumbling question actually seems to stump Nate a moment, his mind not fully catching up, held a step back by his roiling cocktail of emotions. "I... don't know. I would love to know, actually." All too soon, that aggression was back, an angry hand lifting up to tug through his hair roughly. "Every time I try to go to a shrine to ask her, she fucking ignores me. She's never, never shown herself to me."
Despite everything, there is a crack in Nate's voice, an emotion other than irritation, other than anger. He tries to work his jaw after it comes, tries to swallow down anything that goes against his current rage, but it can't be covered up completely. His frustration with what he is rubs at a scar that is far too old to be ignored.
The next stumbling question actually seems to stump Nate a moment, his mind not fully catching up, held a step back by his roiling cocktail of emotions. "I... don't know. I would love to know, actually." All too soon, that aggression was back, an angry hand lifting up to tug through his hair roughly. "Every time I try to go to a shrine to ask her, she fucking ignores me. She's never, never shown herself to me."
Despite everything, there is a crack in Nate's voice, an emotion other than irritation, other than anger. He tries to work his jaw after it comes, tries to swallow down anything that goes against his current rage, but it can't be covered up completely. His frustration with what he is rubs at a scar that is far too old to be ignored.
NATE
