[ the worst seems to escalate; falco much prefers the gun on the ground, for now, not held anywhere near an approaching friend (even more that’s just been shot); he makes sure to hover it toward his side with a shivering hand, bends his knees just a bit, and letting it go to drop close to his feet. he feels nothing to prompt him physically; fern’s hands only seem to make him wince, more frightened at causing more harm and— what he asks makes his heart drop tenfold.
why was he asking that? falco knew, but— he kept on asking himself. the more he did, the more he felt a strangeness begin to weigh. an eating silence. ]
W-what, what thing— [ his eyes are darting, indigo veins spread their spiderweb linings where the whites are, opened wide and hyper vigilant. ] I can’t talk, about the thing.
[ the thing that has given him trouble; the thing he talked to fern about on hay bales at the stable barn. he feels a cold sweat coming in hot, but the beads at his temple aren’t sweat, and they don’t build and slide like sweat. it’s too thick and viscous to do that. ]
no subject
why was he asking that? falco knew, but— he kept on asking himself. the more he did, the more he felt a strangeness begin to weigh. an eating silence. ]
W-what, what thing— [ his eyes are darting, indigo veins spread their spiderweb linings where the whites are, opened wide and hyper vigilant. ] I can’t talk, about the thing.
[ the thing that has given him trouble; the thing he talked to fern about on hay bales at the stable barn. he feels a cold sweat coming in hot, but the beads at his temple aren’t sweat, and they don’t build and slide like sweat. it’s too thick and viscous to do that. ]
The— purple, thing—