She is so carefully earnest, so sweetly sympathetic for a man she plainly does not trust. It does nothing but draw the distance in his expression even further.
The body of Augustine the First looks almost impeccable. It's only the eyes that are wrong, and the mouth. There are teeth where teeth shouldn't be; there are wet black tendrils that look too little like strips of gore, and too much like tentacles. He's not sure the implications hold any real merit; he's not sure anything would need to get inside Augustine's body, when Augustine was inside something worse.
He tips his head to her, and his voice is unbearably gentle.
"I'm going to guess," he murmurs, "he had more skin back in high school."
The pressure is still building. He is more keenly aware of it now; it is very difficult not to look at Augustine. It is a dry, hot anger somewhere far off and deep, and it is rising to the surface with every word he doesn't say.
no subject
The body of Augustine the First looks almost impeccable. It's only the eyes that are wrong, and the mouth. There are teeth where teeth shouldn't be; there are wet black tendrils that look too little like strips of gore, and too much like tentacles. He's not sure the implications hold any real merit; he's not sure anything would need to get inside Augustine's body, when Augustine was inside something worse.
He tips his head to her, and his voice is unbearably gentle.
"I'm going to guess," he murmurs, "he had more skin back in high school."
The pressure is still building. He is more keenly aware of it now; it is very difficult not to look at Augustine. It is a dry, hot anger somewhere far off and deep, and it is rising to the surface with every word he doesn't say.