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Entry tags:
- arknights: gavial,
- culture (the): demeisen,
- enderal: jade the prophetess,
- ennead: set,
- expanse (the): amos burton,
- fate/: flat escardos,
- fate/: sakamoto ryouma,
- fate/: tezcatlipoca,
- legend of zelda (the): link,
- life is strange: chloe price,
- practical guide to evil: akua sahelian,
- pumpkin scissors: alice l. malvin,
- suikoden: yuber,
- zone-00: kiritsubo
techalaniani. [cw: dr...ugs...]
[ It’s about two weeks after the chaos that’s hit Highstorm and Springstar both. The dust has had time to settle and people have started to pick themselves back up. And in that busy time, the Shard-Bearers of Kenos are touched by someone new. It’s a mind that gives the impression of vastness in the way that other gods and similarly supernatural creatures have. There’s dark, fragrant smoke of copal, and the humid heat of a rainforest. It probably feels faintly familiar to some, since there’s just a hint of that warmth that feels similar to a certain sun god(dess)…
But as it focuses, that warmth seems to be coming from a campfire, perhaps oddly. The logs around it offer you a “seat”, whether proverbial or not, and it’s only if you take one that the speak themselves will come into more focus. But the introduction that comes with it is much cooler (in both senses of the word) than the bubbly Quetzalcoatl. ]
Yo.
[ …Is that how the newest god is greeting the masses? Yep. Apparently so. ]
I talked to enough people when Kenos was jerking me around [ no, that was me, the player, ] that Communion is just more efficient. So, for those I’ve met and for those I haven’t, consider this a more formal greeting. You’ve removed my brother Quetzalcoatl and allowed me to descend in his stead.
[ And even though he’s identified Quetzalcoatl as his brother… The smirk in that statement is unmistakable. He’s pleased that Quetzalcoatl is dead. For those that know the mythology of the Aztec pantheon even faintly, this wouldn’t be a surprise at all, since Quetzalcoatl only has one enemy that would be glad to see the feathered serpent fall. ]
Name’s Tezcatlipoca. Tloque nahuaque. [ The Nahuatl is spoken with a sense of power that’s subtle, but still raw, even though there’s no one that would understand it. Still, it conveys the idea well enough—this is no minor god of that pantheon. ] If you know me, great, and if you don’t, well. Met your god Set one of the times I was stoppin’ by, and our whole deal is similar enough. I am conflict, so in the spirit of fairness, I’ve thrown my lot in with Zenith. Can’t have two gods that oversee war and conflict on the same side, yeah?
[ There’s humor in his tone that makes it seem like it’s a joke, but… No. It’s not. That’s a pretty significant part of his rationale for picking Zenith. Thanks Set!/Don’t worry about. ]
Anyways. All that formal shit aside, easy one to follow it all up. Ain’t often that I got a human body to enjoy getting fucked up. So, if you’ve got a preference for weed, hit me up. Workin’ on somethin’ artisanal there, but I wanna know the poisons of preference for the locals. Let me know what you get fucked up on, and I might even make it worth your while.
[ …So. You know. That’s one way to introduce yourself. ]
But as it focuses, that warmth seems to be coming from a campfire, perhaps oddly. The logs around it offer you a “seat”, whether proverbial or not, and it’s only if you take one that the speak themselves will come into more focus. But the introduction that comes with it is much cooler (in both senses of the word) than the bubbly Quetzalcoatl. ]
Yo.
[ …Is that how the newest god is greeting the masses? Yep. Apparently so. ]
I talked to enough people when Kenos was jerking me around [ no, that was me, the player, ] that Communion is just more efficient. So, for those I’ve met and for those I haven’t, consider this a more formal greeting. You’ve removed my brother Quetzalcoatl and allowed me to descend in his stead.
[ And even though he’s identified Quetzalcoatl as his brother… The smirk in that statement is unmistakable. He’s pleased that Quetzalcoatl is dead. For those that know the mythology of the Aztec pantheon even faintly, this wouldn’t be a surprise at all, since Quetzalcoatl only has one enemy that would be glad to see the feathered serpent fall. ]
Name’s Tezcatlipoca. Tloque nahuaque. [ The Nahuatl is spoken with a sense of power that’s subtle, but still raw, even though there’s no one that would understand it. Still, it conveys the idea well enough—this is no minor god of that pantheon. ] If you know me, great, and if you don’t, well. Met your god Set one of the times I was stoppin’ by, and our whole deal is similar enough. I am conflict, so in the spirit of fairness, I’ve thrown my lot in with Zenith. Can’t have two gods that oversee war and conflict on the same side, yeah?
[ There’s humor in his tone that makes it seem like it’s a joke, but… No. It’s not. That’s a pretty significant part of his rationale for picking Zenith. Thanks Set!/Don’t worry about. ]
Anyways. All that formal shit aside, easy one to follow it all up. Ain’t often that I got a human body to enjoy getting fucked up. So, if you’ve got a preference for weed, hit me up. Workin’ on somethin’ artisanal there, but I wanna know the poisons of preference for the locals. Let me know what you get fucked up on, and I might even make it worth your while.
[ …So. You know. That’s one way to introduce yourself. ]
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It's led them to bars of many varieties, since Tezcatlipoca still feels like he’s exploring Kowloon, and thus wasn’t content to stay in one spot too long. Maybe one drink or one thing to smoke, then it was onto the next. The evening had ended at that especially unique club that Tezcatlipoca had mentioned. The workers there were indeed one of a kind for Kenos, and considering it was a strip bar, well. There were all new kinds of genitalia to be seen. Also new numbers of them.
But after that, he was feeling the siren call of bed. He has a pleasant amount of drugs and liquor in his system. Enough that he probably won’t embarrass himself, but also, no guarantees there. It’s at least not so bad that Tezcatlipoca had needed to barge into Silco’s office and demand to crash there. He leads the way back to his apartment, but the buzz has made him feel hot, so he has the jacket casually slung over a shoulder as they go. It not only shows the matching tattoos on his upper arms (and a bit of one peeking out of his shirt on his back), but the holster that he’d been hiding under the jacket with the gun now fully on display. This late, anyone else out and about needs to see it as a sign to try their luck elsewhere, he figured.
When Matt starts talking, Tezcatlipoca tosses him a curious glance at first, but he laughs after it takes him the second to catch up. ]
—I guess I did say we’d save it.
[ He reaches into his pants pocket to pull out his keys, since they’re close. He twirls it around his finger and nods, though his words are slurred by this point in the night. ]
Least in my world, yeah. That’s how it goes. Reality ain’t as concrete as people think. Also a lot fuckin’ weirder than people think. But there’s plenty that’s just misinterpreted too. Ain’t as clear where shit comes from when you don’t have the Gods able to chat with ya whenever we feel like it.
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For now, he beams back in the face of Tezca's laughter. He feels gloriously unselfconscious, like he's walking on air. Some of that air is made of scattered trash, and that's okay by him. Matt doesn't rely on drugs and alcohol to take him out of his head (most of the time), but he can appreciate their powers in that regard. ]
Even the embodied presence of gods isn't really a guarantee, [ he points out. He's gotten a bit overheated himself, in the course of the evening, and a few of his shirt buttons have come undone. ] I can talk to a human person and misinterpret what they say, so you being here doesn't mean I'll understand you unless I know how to listen.
... It probably is easier than not having you here, though. Easier.
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For now, though! He dips his head in agreement, and there’s a look of somewhat reluctant concession with it. ]
…Well, you got me there. Plenty of shit that did come from us that got, uh, misunderstood.
[ In one sense, the misunderstandings were small, just unclear language about how best to do things, numbers, things like that. On paper, it’d be very clerical. But in practice, it was the human sacrifice element. Like, they did want the blood and appreciated the sacrifice, since it empowered them, but. Sometimes it got out of hand with the sheer amounts with, say, the dedication of a temple or something like that. Especially his temples…
They turn the corner of the dim corridor, and Tezcatlipoca nods. ]
Yep, there we go. I was pretty sure this was the right way—
[ …With how he trails off, there should be some doubt about his confidence. But he heads to a door that outwardly is no different from any of the others. It’s rough and ramshackle with one big, keyed lock, and lots of dents and indications of deadbolts (absolutely plural) on the other side. He misses the keyhole on the first try, mumbles a curse, but on the second, it’s more successful!
With showy panache that comes solely from his inebriation, he steps inside and grandly gestures to the apartment like it’s a palace. It, of course, is anything but. In fact, Matt can see all of it, save for the bathroom and narrow balcony. It’s dingy and a bit rundown, like everything else in Kowloon, but it’s clean. At first impression, there’s nothing particularly interesting about the objects in it—it just seems like a normal, lived in apartment free of decoration. But there is the faint smell of copal that clings to the air in here rather than the mustier air in the corridor.
There is also only one bed. It is not very big. ]
And here we are. My incredibly fuckin’ humble abode.
[ But he sounds fond when he says it. Even though he’ll give Silco a hard time forever, he’s actually genuinely appreciative to have this place. Now that they’re here, he tosses his coat over the single chair, then starts to clumsily fuss with the strapping of his holster to take it off. ]
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Probably not safe. But these days, what is?
Waxing poetic isn't something Matt does just when he's been indulging. But something that is a little more exclusive to that realm: When Tezcatlipoca says he's "pretty sure" they're headed the right way, Matt says oooh. He pumps a fist in the air as he fumbles key into lock. And at Tezca's showy gesture--
Rainbow-colored sparks shower down on them like intangible confetti. ]
Yesss, [ Matt exclaims as he slips inside. He peers around the place, which is honestly not much smaller than his student apartment back home. It's also way tidier. ] I have to admit, I wasn't sure we'd make it.
[ He's about to start the considerable task of unlacing his boots when he notices Tezcatlipoca struggling a bit. He steps closer, reaching out to tap gently at his fingers. ]
Can I help?
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[ Tezcatlipoca laughs in surprise at the sparks, but he’s absolutely in the headspace to enjoy it more than he might normally. That probably doesn’t help with his fumbling, since his attention is on the fading lights as he tries to work at it. ]
My sense of direction is usually better, but it gets all fucked up in here… Too… Well, y’know. We just went through it.
[ Maze-like, he means, but there’s slightly more to it than that. He wouldn’t articulate it well at the moment, though. He’s a god that’s closer to nature than civilization, so the streets of Kowloon are unnatural, whereas he could navigate deep woods without any problem. The novelty could be why he likes the modern world, though.
As Matt reaches out, Tezcatlipoca makes a light noise, then looking over to him— There’s definitely a look for just a moment, but it’s hard to place. It’s closest to hesitation, but that doesn’t seem to be it, since there’s only that little beat before he nods. It’s something easily attributed to being under the influence. ]
Yeah, help me out. Easy to put this shit on when I’m goin’ out, but getting’ it off’s another matter.
[ And as he does, Tezcatlipoca lapses into a silence that's thoughtful, but it's short-lived. There's a different question he wants to ask, but there's one that has to precede it. ]
...Haven't talked about it, exactly. But you pick a side in all this shit yet?
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He chuckles, hmm, for Tezca's remark about the comparative ease of putting this thing on versus taking it off. His fingers move slowly over the straps across Tezca's back. Half because he presumes this gun is loaded and doesn't want it to hit the floor and go off. Half because he wants to triple check that his body is where he thinks it is. The downside of drugs and alcohol is that sometimes they push him away from a sense of embodiment, rather than into it. ]
Oh, [ he says, at the question. ] Ah, yeah. Picked during the attack in Springstar.
[ He coaxes one strap free of its buckle, hanging onto it for a moment to make sure nothing's going to fall. ]
You know how it is ... people in trouble, all I have is magic, there's only one way I know of to get to the magic ... so Zenith it is.
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So, you and I are allies. Nice.
[ That’s one part of why he asked, though in a way, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d answered Meridian. It’s just the choice itself that matter to Tezcatlipoca. But it’s a more convenient answer for what’s on his mind and the source of that look. ]
You ask for a Shard?
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[ The set of Matt's shoulders goes a little bit easier when Tezcatlipoca takes the gun in hand. He's holding more tension than he realized. Talk of Factions tends to stress him out more now than it did before he harmonized--though of course, circumstances have changed since then. He sighs out, reminding himself to breathe deeply. Cleansing breaths that taste faintly of copal.
And, for the second question: ]
No. [ Matt buys time fiddling over the straps, though they aren't truly that complicated. They're unfamiliar to him, and he's a teensy bit crossfaded, but that's all there really is to it. ] I haven't asked for anything.
[ With the gun safely out of the way, Matt unhooks the last buckle. He stays close, but waits for Tezcatlipoca to move to get a sense for where it'd be most helpful to nudge the straps. ]
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What- Seriously?
[ He’s genuinely shocked, since with his impression of Matt, he’d figured the question would be rhetorical. Of course he would, right? He wasn’t some psycho like Silco that fucking hated his world and (Tezcatlipoca assumed) had no one they wanted to save. He had to assume it was a hard choice for mortals, sure, but he still would have guessed he would have picked one. ]
Ah, shit…
[ …Where does that leave him, then? Actually desiring things, caring about them, that doesn’t go well for him. He’d thought that the offer was fine in the sense of that kind of cosmic balance, because surely it wasn’t out of the ordinary enough for the proverbial scales to balance.
He sets the gun on the tiny table and dumps the bullets next to it. At least with one strap undone, the whole harness can be shrugged off more like a jacket, since it’s just getting it loose enough across the shoulders that’s most helpful. The rest he can manage himself, such as the lace-up boots they both seem to favor. He tosses the harness over the chair too, then goes to take a seat on the bed where it’s easy to lean over and undo them. He nods lazily for Matt to join him, if he wants. ]
Figured everyone did. [ It’s mumbled, and that’s not wholly because of the intoxication (just mostly). ] You thinkin’ about it still, or…?
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He feels like he's always out of step with what other people think, what they want and feel. Even here. Still, he does come over to the bed and settle onto the mattress. The dip their weight makes, the warmth of someone next to him--those, at least, are legible to him. ]
I don't know. [ Matt tries to see if he can telekinesis his laces from their knots. Unfortunately, his brain can't seem to tell the laces apart from each other, so for a moment, one loop undoes and redoes itself on repeat. It's objectively funny to keep fucking it up, but Matt doesn't laugh. ] Not to impugn anyone else's choice, but ... I don't want to owe Yima anything, if she's still out there. And Shards are so vulnerable anyway.
And ... you know, whatever comes next. Whether it's finding a way to fight oblivion, or if I'm totally wrong and we get to all merrily kill each other in the name of real, legitimate goal that can absolutely happen the way we think it will ...
I don't know. I don't expect to be the same at the end.
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You won’t be. That’s the nature of conflict, yeah? It spurs change, but good or bad, it’s better than being stagnant. Fighting Oblivion, fighting each other, it’s a fight either way.
[ He’s being more serious, and while it’s not the happiest conversation, his tone is definitely one of quiet encouragement, however muted. ]
You can be afraid of the trials ahead but embrace them earnestly when they come. You can’t get caught up regretting things that haven’t happened yet, y’know?
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You doin’ that on purpose, man? You ain’t sleepin’ with me with your shoes on.
[ As casually as he gives his wisdom, he's quickly back to being casual. He's a contradictory kind of god that way. ]
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[ What I'm afraid of, he means to say. What is he afraid of? Choosing wrong, which is another way of saying doing wrong. Things spiraling out of control, even though control is an illusion. Fucking all this up and leaving nothing behind for anyone. No future, no heaven or earth, not even ash for flowers to grow upon.
If that's what trials mean, then maybe he is afraid of them. But then Tezca calls attention to his absolutely miserable shoelace-untying efforts, and Matt's thoughts scatter into a bird-storm of giggles. (He wishes his natural laugh was reliably manly, but alas.) ]
I was trying to get them off with my mind, [ he protests. ] But the laces all feel the same from here. They're too fungible.
[ When Tezcatlipoca bends to help, Matt at least stops trying to make the laces move. Instead, he cards his fingers through his hair. ]
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[ He chuckles out the word, since it feels strange on his tongue, but at least physically untying shoes isn’t as difficult as trying to do it with your mind. Probably. For example, at the same time, he’s wiggling off the one shoe of his he’s untied. It’s about as graceful as you’d imagine (not at all), but he at least makes an appreciative noise at the hand through his hair. Though he does laugh again as he realizes— ]
Guess I lost that hair-tie somewhere. [ rip the man-bun, you were lost at some point this evening ] You feelin’ any more competent with your hands? You can braid my hair, unless you want to wake up with some in your mouth. It gets fuckin’ everywhere.
[ Long hair problems… But with one shoe done (including wiggling his own off), he starts on the other. ]
It’s not what?
[ He does return to that part of the conversation, absolutely. He’s not so far gone that it’s out of the question. He’d already learned that limit on his first outing in Kowloon… It’s distinctly possible that his first visit to Kenos and then departure was really more of a dissipation, but. ]
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[ He gently sweeps aside one section of Tezcatlipoca's long spill of hair, careful not to tug on it while he's being so gracious about Matt's shoes. More getting a sense for its weight and thickness. ]
You're in luck, [ he murmurs. ] My big sister made me learn how to braid hair when we were little. I got pretty good.
[ And honestly, it served him well in high school and college. You'd think it would've veered too "gay best friend" for girls to find attractive, but not all the time! But anyway, it takes Matt a moment to reroute. ]
I don't think I'm afraid of change, [ he says, after a moment of tracing the conversation back. ] I mean ... I told Gavial if it were up to me and I knew it wouldn't hurt anyone, I'd always want to make something new. Take a chance, see something that's never been seen before.
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[ He teases with a laugh, but it’s not like his own efforts are much more elegant. He just has the benefit of, well, fungibility at hand that makes it go a bit more smoothly.
At least for himself, there’s nothing particularly special other than what might seem like good genes, if that were truly a factor here. He doesn’t have any particularly magical aspects when it comes to his own body, so his hair is very pretty, but it’s because he takes care of it! But at least in human form, he’s subject to the same kinds of trials and tribulations as anyone with long hair after a night out, it seems—some small tangles, split ends, et cetera. And though it’s subtle (because he’s focused on his task very literally at hand), he seems to appreciate the personal attention of Matt tending to his hair from his body language alone. ]
…Ah. Gotcha. Bit more, anyways.
[ Objectively speaking, he understands that hesitation. He’s a god that’s closer to humans than might initially be expected, but he’s still set apart from them. The way that mortals and immortals—especially gods—thought was simply different, especially when it came to something like this. But he has a bit more desire to understand it than others might. ]
Dunno if that’s possible. [ Genuinely, he doesn’t know, but he imagines not. ] So, what if it does hurt people? The change worth it then?
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I don't know if the change is worth it, [ Matt muses. ] There's a part of me that thinks anybody alive now has the right to keep living over people who might be alive in the future. Even though some of the people alive now, like people from Highstorm, believe in making that sacrifice. I think it'd have to be unanimous before I was totally okay with it.
... But that's all kind of to the side of the whole Shard thing. Asking for stuff.
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To tell you the truth, it’s why I don’t agree with this at a basic premise. Dunno if there’s any control to be had over that. But that’s not the kinda question you should have to worry about. Balancing the scales of life and what comes after is a god’s duty, and I don’t mean that to be a dick. More that the way we work, it’s not a problem to us to balance those scales.
[ …It is to the side of the Shard part of things, though. He finishes untying Matt’s boot, so with both of them done, he returns to his remaining one. Since it still involves him bending over to do it and Matt is still working with his hair, he just sets his cheek on Matt’s closest leg while he works on it. It’s silly, perhaps. But that’s drunk/high-brain for you. It’s why he also pauses before admitting: ]
…S’why I feel weird about takin’ a Shard. [ It’s more slurred, more mumbled. Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe he’s embarrassed. It’s impossible to tell. ] Shouldn’t need to be “paid” for it.
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He hums again, gentler, when Tezca's cheek presses to his leg. Moving on to another section of hair, he repeats the process of carding his fingers through, working small tangles loose. ]
I don't know about should or shouldn't, [ Matt notes quietly. ] But I definitely think you deserve the same options as all the rest of us. [ A quirk of his lips. ] That's the labor perspective, anyway. Everybody gets compensated for their work.
[ Normally, Matt wouldn't ask his next question. Or at least he'd hem and haw some before he did it. But now, lulled by intoxication and proximity, he goes for it. ]
There was one person you wanted to save? Or like--bring with you, to whatever's next?
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[ He laughs out the title like it’s a joke, and it kind of is. It’s what he’d called Daybit not infrequently, and there’s part of it that’s true. He definitely fit plenty of the criteria. But mostly, it was Tezcatlipoca’s way to soothe his own pride and avoid calling Daybit his Master. Sure, “Master” and “Servant” were just the terms that mages had come up with to describe the partnership between a mage and a Heroic Spirit (disclaimer: the heroism of said spirit need not always apply), but… Dammit, they definitely could have picked less loaded words. Leave it to mages, basically.
He finishes untying the boot, but he just keeps his head on Matt’s leg. It’s partially laziness, but his gaze has also settled on the only thing he’d asked Silco to add. It’s a pretty common feature of Kowloon apartments to have a kind of secret safe, but there’s only one thing in Tezcatlipoca’s. And honestly, he feels guilty for keeping it in here, but it’s better than the worry he’d feel carrying it around. Even for a god with some dominion over souls, it felt too fragile to risk carrying around casually. ]
…The guy that summoned me. Asked for my help. [ With what, Tezcatlipoca doesn’t say, but that whole explanation feels like a bit too much. Maybe when he’s sober, he might, but as much as “an alien was going to eat the Earth in a month’s time” sounds like the perfect kind of talk to have while you’re high, the reasons why Daybit wanted that to happen weren’t. ] Didn’t get to finish what we started, so… Dunno. Felt like I owed him.
[ And more than that, but those are the complicated pieces that Tezcatlipoca is stubbornly trying to push away. He wanted him to be able to relax knowing their world was gone, since that’s what they wanted in the end. He wanted to give Daybit a second chance, like maybe this place was too far away for the Angels to reach and use him. He missed him.
He tilts his head back towards Matt slightly so that he can look at him. His expression is critical, but honestly, it’s for himself, not Matt. ]
That’s why I’m surprised you didn’t pick someone too. Sure, ain’t good to owe someone mysterious like Yima, but… [ He pauses, since the implication here is, well. It is what it is. ] It’s human.
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Tezcatlipoca turns to look at him. To Matt, his eyes are sharp as a bird of prey's--a meat-eater's. Matt remembers, from what he's read, that it's not always so enviable to be a god's favorite mortal. ]
I guess it is, [ he admits, feeling guilty. ] And if I could save everyone from my world, so their souls could move on to the next one ... even if they weren't in the same container they were before, you know, the same body ... I'd do that.
But since I can't, I thought about who would want to be here with me. At the end of the world, or the start of the next one.
And.
I don't know.
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…However, its fighters weren’t all the typical warriors. They existed, sure, but for the most part, he’d been talking to people like Matt. Perfectly ordinary people, at least compared to the hardened warriors that he naturally favored. This kind of lonely answer gives him an idea, though. There may be some souls that would have been destined to journey to Tlahuiztlampa, the resting place of warriors, but the rest… Maybe at the end of their journey, they’re destined to end up in his paradise. Mictlampa is the land of rest, the place where those who may have struggled in other ways would finally find their peace. He has his own thoughts about those souls, and, well… ]
…What a pain in the ass.
[ It’s either a non sequitur or a very rude dismissal to the vulnerable moment, but just from Tezcatlipoca’s expression as he shifts, it doesn’t seem to be the latter. He keeps his thoughts to himself as he kicks off that other boot ungracefully and sits up. His head swims with the movement and he breathes out a woah, but he puts a hand on Matt’s shoulder. It’s clearly meant to be a reassuring touch. ]
Didn’t mean to put you on the spot. [ It’s as close to an apology as he’ll get. ] Just- feels selfish of me to pick anyone. Which, fuck, I know I’m fucked up, sayin’ all this shit.
[ He withdraws his hand to just let it sit next to him. ]
Dunno if it means anything from me. But you don’t have to know.
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He doesn't know what he feels now. It feels a little bit like nothing. ]
I don't think you're being selfish, [ he murmurs. Unwilling to meet Tezcatlipoca's gaze, he looks down, turning his focus to kicking off his shoes. ] Maybe it's stupid not to pick someone, even someone random. My second grade teacher. Our old housekeeper.
[ It'd be a soul retained who wouldn't be otherwise. N+1 in the universal equation. Matt manages to wriggle his feet free from his boots; they hit the floor, clunk, clunk. He turns back to Tezcatlipoca, reaching for his hair. ]
Here. Let me braid this.
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You could, but I dunno. Maybe it’s worth savin’ the slot, so to speak. Might be that you run into someone that needs it. Far as I know, there’s not a time limit besides the obvious.
[ Win or lose, and even then, only one case really matters. ]
I’m on your side, though. [ He’s pretty sure, at least. He might phrase it more harshly when he sobers up, offer his usual conditions that he only offers his favor to those who at the very least strive for a goal, but for now: ] I gave you a key to my place, right? So you ain’t alone, unless you want to be. Just remember that.
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The braid he starts in on is a fishtail, somewhat by accident; his fingers remember it better than his brain. Just know that Tezcatlipoca came this close to a beautiful "first ballet recital" French braid. ]
Thank you, [ Matt says. He means it, though the bulk of his appreciation is for the suggestion about Shards. It feels practical, meaningful. Why should somebody suffer between picking two loved ones for their shot at salvation while Matt struggles to think of one? He watches himself sweep Tezcatlipoca's hair into a woven pattern--recognizable and structurally sound, if not terribly neat. ] I guess it's good to talk these things out sometimes. In your own head, you can get so stuck.
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why was there a linebreak there LMFAO.... oh well
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