Pipsqueak needs no further invitation: she slithers out from her bonded's grip like a mink-coated eel, immediately depositing herself amongst the Flood's bits and bobs. Curious little claws reach out for a particularly shiny piece of glass, the dragonling inspecting it with the critical eye of a natural born hoarder. Koa, for his part, watches with fond exasperation that shifts to surprised sympathy when Sunjata speaks. "Oh, you... Fuck, I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say, doesn't know the man well enough to pry further, so he contents himself with feeling for the bond he shares with Pip, suddenly more aware of and grateful for it than ever before.
Koa wouldn't know an Ascended bite if one appeared on his neck. Truth be told, the sheltered lad has never personally met an Ascended - unsurprising, considering he came of age in a place designed to keep them out. Which is to say, he does not notice the Ascended bites, especially as they're wrapped up in the entrancing tattoos that litter the Flood's shoulders and neck.
The young man nods seriously, his gaze shifting to the lantern pieces he's now pulled from his bag. "Not everyone did," he murmurs softly, rubbing a finger tentatively over a piece of blood-red glass. He doesn't say more, doesn't want to, just leaves the unsaid hanging there. They're both making lanterns, so they both know loss.
Sometimes it's enough to simply know that someone else gets it.
Koa wouldn't know an Ascended bite if one appeared on his neck. Truth be told, the sheltered lad has never personally met an Ascended - unsurprising, considering he came of age in a place designed to keep them out. Which is to say, he does not notice the Ascended bites, especially as they're wrapped up in the entrancing tattoos that litter the Flood's shoulders and neck.
The young man nods seriously, his gaze shifting to the lantern pieces he's now pulled from his bag. "Not everyone did," he murmurs softly, rubbing a finger tentatively over a piece of blood-red glass. He doesn't say more, doesn't want to, just leaves the unsaid hanging there. They're both making lanterns, so they both know loss.
Sometimes it's enough to simply know that someone else gets it.
be love in its disrepute,
scorches the hillside and salts every root
