[there are no children in the scene that plays before him, only two people sitting at a table. the fortune teller sliding a notebook across to him, a smile on his face until he looks down. the language's symbols might not be readable to Adolf, but what is unmistakable is how Chrollo's face falls, the shock that takes over, the tears that fall unbidden from his eyes.
the man in person has his lips pressed tight together, hands shoved deep into his pockets, curling themselves into loose fists. as if that pain could ever dull. as if there could be a hint of relief while they weren't able to give him a proper burial, take him home.]
Why apologize? You aren't the one that did this.
[unless he did, and then there would have to be words spoken.]
no subject
the man in person has his lips pressed tight together, hands shoved deep into his pockets, curling themselves into loose fists. as if that pain could ever dull. as if there could be a hint of relief while they weren't able to give him a proper burial, take him home.]
Why apologize? You aren't the one that did this.
[unless he did, and then there would have to be words spoken.]