WISE MEN WONDER WHILE STRONG MEN DIE
"Not who?" Neron asks, already obviously having forgotten quite what they were talking about. Gods, probably? Good gods? Good gods, man! "Ohhh yeah, the Voice," he mumbles into the pillows (and possibly Nate's armpit, who knows by now). The sudden exclamations of no have him blinking his eyes open, gazing across at Nate and frowning like he's interrupting a perfectly good nap with his refusal to just dream like a normal person. Peace and darkness do sound very good around about now, though.
They lay there for a little while in the fever heat of swirling madness, and Neron sloppily snaps his teeth at the hand that comes to pat at his cheek. "Mm, defence," he slurs. "I got murderers off the hook most of the time. Just my last case that went south. Racism towards Bloodfiends, that's what it was," he mutters, though none of that will make remotely any sense to Nate.
They lay there for a little while in the fever heat of swirling madness, and Neron sloppily snaps his teeth at the hand that comes to pat at his cheek. "Mm, defence," he slurs. "I got murderers off the hook most of the time. Just my last case that went south. Racism towards Bloodfiends, that's what it was," he mutters, though none of that will make remotely any sense to Nate.
