VARUS
tell me father, which to ask forgiveness for?
what i am, or what i'm not?
what i am, or what i'm not?
“A dead Outlander?” This does surprise him a bit, truthfully. “I was born here. The fuck are you on about with that Outlander shit?” He can’t help the edge of a bite in his tone. But she still puts those knives away and he stares at her with an unmoving, unblinking blue gaze. He watches the knife as it’s tossed his way, sighing and bending down to pick it up, gripping it with a hand that is well practiced with weaponry, flipping it in the air so the blade twists toward where he might be able to cut himself with it.
And then he grips the handle and slices it along his bicep of the ruined arm. Opalescent liquid begins to drip from it, pouring down his arm. All the while he stares at Wessex expectantly. “There. Happy now?” He asks before he charges ahead with his words. “Like I said, been stuck under a hedge for a while. I’d like to keep as much fluid as I can until I see a shrine again.” He tosses the knife at her feet, watching it land blade first into the grasses with the handle pointed toward her, as his good hand lifts to cover the wound to try and conserve as much fluid as he can.
“Can we go now?” His head tilts, taking a step closer to Wessex.
And then he grips the handle and slices it along his bicep of the ruined arm. Opalescent liquid begins to drip from it, pouring down his arm. All the while he stares at Wessex expectantly. “There. Happy now?” He asks before he charges ahead with his words. “Like I said, been stuck under a hedge for a while. I’d like to keep as much fluid as I can until I see a shrine again.” He tosses the knife at her feet, watching it land blade first into the grasses with the handle pointed toward her, as his good hand lifts to cover the wound to try and conserve as much fluid as he can.
“Can we go now?” His head tilts, taking a step closer to Wessex.
tell me mother, which should i regret?
what i became, or what i didn't?
what i became, or what i didn't?
