He frowns a bit... at the idea of just SIMPLY HOLDING THIS DRUMSTICK WITH HIS BARE HAND? He holds it so daintily and picks at the skin a little bit. He tears off a piece and eats it. ]
...It's good.
[ Objectively a turkey leg from a fair is delicious, even if he has to get pretty messy to eat it. ]
[ Love how my opener bracket apparently went missing, thanks mobile. Even a paper towel comes a bit close to eating chicken wings with his bare hands but that's fine he doesn't actually have a big problem with it outside of being a bit of a priss. ]
Makes you understand why salt and spices were such a valuable traded commodity.
Could've practically made an economy among us if we actually had any.
she snorts at that - her tail is wagging a little as she eats.]
Really drives in the prison aspect, huh. Bargaining with the guards for pipes and salt and things to wash your hair with. [little sigh.] Not that I've ever been for more than a few days, but still.
I've never been to prison so... you have more experience than me?
[ ...I wonder if they've discovered the bodies by now. Probably have, it's been long enough... Did the Baron even leave me anything in the will? Can't decide if it's more or less suspicious if I'm actually in it... ]
What would you end up behind bars for anyways? Picking bar fights?
concerning thought, help. she glances at him, distracted, before realizing he asked her a question.]
Nah, even if that is much cooler. I was maybe eighteen? My parents were gone, so I'd gotten booted out of our house. I was starving, so I stole an apple off a cart, and got into a fist fight with the cart owner.
[another bite of food.]
It was only like three days or so. They didn't have room to keep me in.
[ Man. His brow furrows minutely thinking about it. She can probably catch loose, vague thoughts thinking about street kids, the sorts of situations they end up in. Gangs. Red light districts. Unscrupulous militaries. ]
They always just used you for your body, didn't they?
[silence, for a moment, as she rubs at her engine.]
... Yeah. [there's a general sense of - weariness, from her thoughts. something run down and just like, whatever, who cares.] It's mine, though. I won't let anybody take it from me again.
[and then there's the little stream of thoughts that are sort of like - thinking about the memory she saw from him, his arm, giving up parts of himself for others.
her tail comes out to settle at his ankle, just touching to touch.]
[ Maybe more people should care! People who stop dying at least.
He doesn't say anything in response to the fleeting thoughts. He doesn't exactly want to, it's not like he ever gives these things up freely and willingly, but it is what it is -- is the vibe. Black market. Occult healing. Comfort and release. The body is a cheap price to pay, comparatively. ]
I haven't said anything. But no, actually, I'm really not.
...
[ It's the same old, same old. What do I even tell her? Not that I care to lie, but I can only be so honest... Or you could just ask outright, you little eavesdropper! Or is that your idea of a tease? ]
[ He's just going to hand the rest of his turkey leg to Karlach. He never actually bit it he really just kept picking pieces off gently and even then, not a lot. ]
You can have the rest of this. If you want it. I don't mean to give you leftovers but.
[she takes it, and there's like this brief squiggle of thoughts that all sound annoyed and frustrated. she takes the turkey leg, though, without complaint.]
If you're sure? I don't mind leftovers or whatever. [...] I'm glad you're still here.
[a beat. and then she picks off a bit of the meat on the leg still and munches on it.]
Let's keep walking. I want to enjoy this place before it's gone.
...Sure. Before another corpse and more blood ruins our impressions of it.
[ He hates how that works. Show up in a new place... watch everyone get their enjoyment out of it where they can -- and then something bad happens. The doors shut. Someone dies. Sometimes you find them in the place you were at, where you should've known. Use another area to act as a fucked up execution stage with an audience... and then erase it all for something else new and shiny, start it over again.
Again. And again. It's less like one, slow event that takes across two months, but rather more like smaller cycles of seven days of the same thing. And that exhausts him so much more.
No escape.
Sorry thoughtshare week really is just like. Actually despite anything he says his internal mindspace is incredibly fucking depressing on a bass-boosted level. ]
[thoughtshare week makes her like five thousand times more worried about him, wow!
he's not wrong, is the thing. it's how she's been feeling about it too. the slow build up, the three days of something good, to lick their wounds, and then another four to drive the knife deeper. nothing really heals. like slapping an illusion over something to pretend.
he says this, and his thoughts reflect it, and there's a moment where she puts all the food down and away, and wipes her hands off, and just. stretches. pulls her arms behind her head as they turn to start walking again. tries to empty her head.
there's a dumb heat behind her eyes. she hates that.]
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You're fine. [teases.] Here, try this. Just bite into it.
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...It's good.
[ Objectively a turkey leg from a fair is delicious, even if he has to get pretty messy to eat it. ]
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Isn't it? For once, it's got seasonings.
[munches on her own - though she's less dainty about it.]
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Makes you understand why salt and spices were such a valuable traded commodity.
Could've practically made an economy among us if we actually had any.
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she snorts at that - her tail is wagging a little as she eats.]
Really drives in the prison aspect, huh. Bargaining with the guards for pipes and salt and things to wash your hair with. [little sigh.] Not that I've ever been for more than a few days, but still.
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[ ...I wonder if they've discovered the bodies by now. Probably have, it's been long enough... Did the Baron even leave me anything in the will? Can't decide if it's more or less suspicious if I'm actually in it... ]
What would you end up behind bars for anyways? Picking bar fights?
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concerning thought, help. she glances at him, distracted, before realizing he asked her a question.]
Nah, even if that is much cooler. I was maybe eighteen? My parents were gone, so I'd gotten booted out of our house. I was starving, so I stole an apple off a cart, and got into a fist fight with the cart owner.
[another bite of food.]
It was only like three days or so. They didn't have room to keep me in.
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[ IS HE WRONG? KARLACH. ]
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True! [grinning] Look, I regretted it! I don't like stealing.
I got picked up by Gortash a couple days later. Turns out he saw the fight and thought I'd be a scrappy bodyguard, which I was.
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They always just used you for your body, didn't they?
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... Yeah. [there's a general sense of - weariness, from her thoughts. something run down and just like, whatever, who cares.] It's mine, though. I won't let anybody take it from me again.
[and then there's the little stream of thoughts that are sort of like - thinking about the memory she saw from him, his arm, giving up parts of himself for others.
her tail comes out to settle at his ankle, just touching to touch.]
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He doesn't say anything in response to the fleeting thoughts. He doesn't exactly want to, it's not like he ever gives these things up freely and willingly, but it is what it is -- is the vibe. Black market. Occult healing. Comfort and release. The body is a cheap price to pay, comparatively. ]
Was that the only time you'd ever been to prison?
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Yeah. I keep my nose clean, mostly, and if I don't, it's because there wasn't anybody left to report it, and they started it.
[huff.]
The Hells were enough of a figurative one, though.
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[ Just full on goblin with a heart and no trauma, how about that. ]
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Maybe. I don't know, I like to think I was a pretty good kid, but I can't help myself sometimes. I get mad. [her tail flicks.]
... Guess we'll never really know.
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[ Fire. Befitting her in every way. ]
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[this is a joke, with the way she grins a little at him.]
... Hey, um. I've been trying not to listen in on your thoughts, promise, but. How are you doing today?
[subtle, karlach.]
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...
[ It's the same old, same old. What do I even tell her? Not that I care to lie, but I can only be so honest...
Or you could just ask outright, you little eavesdropper! Or is that your idea of a tease? ]
I'm still here. The fresh air is nice.
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catches her off guard, those definitely just a guy thoughts, and she blinks at him.]
What? [the fresh air is nice, she'll take that, but also.] Um. Sorry? I think?
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[a beat. what the fuck. do I ask? you're supposed to be pretending you don't hear.]
No, I know. You're nicer to me than that.
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[ He's just going to hand the rest of his turkey leg to Karlach. He never actually bit it he really just kept picking pieces off gently and even then, not a lot. ]
You can have the rest of this. If you want it. I don't mean to give you leftovers but.
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If you're sure? I don't mind leftovers or whatever. [...] I'm glad you're still here.
[a beat. and then she picks off a bit of the meat on the leg still and munches on it.]
Let's keep walking. I want to enjoy this place before it's gone.
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[ He hates how that works. Show up in a new place... watch everyone get their enjoyment out of it where they can -- and then something bad happens. The doors shut. Someone dies. Sometimes you find them in the place you were at, where you should've known. Use another area to act as a fucked up execution stage with an audience... and then erase it all for something else new and shiny, start it over again.
Again. And again. It's less like one, slow event that takes across two months, but rather more like smaller cycles of seven days of the same thing. And that exhausts him so much more.
No escape.
Sorry thoughtshare week really is just like. Actually despite anything he says his internal mindspace is incredibly fucking depressing on a bass-boosted level. ]
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he's not wrong, is the thing. it's how she's been feeling about it too. the slow build up, the three days of something good, to lick their wounds, and then another four to drive the knife deeper. nothing really heals. like slapping an illusion over something to pretend.
he says this, and his thoughts reflect it, and there's a moment where she puts all the food down and away, and wipes her hands off, and just. stretches. pulls her arms behind her head as they turn to start walking again. tries to empty her head.
there's a dumb heat behind her eyes. she hates that.]
-- Hey, Daan.
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