i need to stop fantasising about sex and death.

“stop looking at me.” “just . go fight somethin’.”

now sitting cross legged. arms still crossed.

“oh come on, you just look pathetic.”

. . . “it’s not working. i don’t feel bad.” he feels bad.

we are the stories we tell ourselves. the brave hero, the tortured soul, the altruist, the pragmatist. they will tell you who they see, but you and you alone know who you are.

i don’t exist.

. . . i’m not dead?

where did you come from ? !

next time give a guy some warning. . .

i’m easy to spook. . . i’m pretty oblivious, which just means i have to be a damn good fighter.

OOC: hey. i want to come back. like this for some banter?