[ there goes that. might've been nice to have a conversation about swimming, instead — the truth's a quiet little humming thing at the back of his mind, a street cleaner working across the neighborhood roads when he's trying to sleep. too much noise. he's always been a light sleeper, too -- in contrast, perhaps, to yu. had the insect poison acted only to enhance an intrinsic predilection to sleeping deep? if rin had been bitten instead, would he be sleeping still in the middle of the jungle, proudly possessing all four limbs all street-sweepers banished to a different neighborhood entirely? ]
Nah. Didn't even bleed.
[ mr. overachiever, here's another bit of trivia for you: stand too close to an explosion, and the heat is enough to cauterize even the loss of a limb.
it's kind of cool, even. says ten-year-old rin, who'd watched all of card captor sakura with his younger sister, who'd loved meiling's directed fire the best of all.
a battle scar, or something like.
maybe rin's no fighter, maybe he doesn't move with the precision of the fighters of cerealia, but now he's earned his place amongst them.
--on some shallow level, at least. a red badge of honor. his hair's already uneven as shit; maybe he'll ask yu to even it out. or to shave it all off, opening up severe cheekbones and temples to appraisal. ]
You got a pair of scissors on you?
[ he doesn't want to talk about it. not the arm, not the fire, not anything. and the gravel in his question, the sudden sharpness of his gaze, should make that clear. ]
no subject
Nah. Didn't even bleed.
[ mr. overachiever, here's another bit of trivia for you: stand too close to an explosion, and the heat is enough to cauterize even the loss of a limb.
it's kind of cool, even. says ten-year-old rin, who'd watched all of card captor sakura with his younger sister, who'd loved meiling's directed fire the best of all.
a battle scar, or something like.
maybe rin's no fighter, maybe he doesn't move with the precision of the fighters of cerealia, but now he's earned his place amongst them.
--on some shallow level, at least. a red badge of honor. his hair's already uneven as shit; maybe he'll ask yu to even it out. or to shave it all off, opening up severe cheekbones and temples to appraisal. ]
You got a pair of scissors on you?
[ he doesn't want to talk about it. not the arm, not the fire, not anything. and the gravel in his question, the sudden sharpness of his gaze, should make that clear. ]