[ It isn't just clothing. There is that, piles like the body that had once worn them had been turned to ash. But further in, tucked between some trash cans, there are actual ones. Like this had been a group of school children, or perhaps brothers and sisters that had tried to huddle together for safety before passing. Death's embrace in a final hug.
They look blackened and cracked. One, a little girl, like she had been turned to stone and started to fracture. Black stars are spread over her skin like measles might. And if touched--
She would crumble to ash in your hands. ]
Todoroki... [ It's quiet, surprised and breathless as his tone sinks at the sight of them. Allen's standing at the mouth of the alleyway the other boy had just come through as well, looking a little breathless and like he had just stopped after running headlong.
His expression twists in a raw sort of anguish at the sight in front of him, swallowing hard as his gaze flickers between Shouto and the piles of clothing. The bodies. It isn't the first time he's seen something like this, but that doesn't make it any easier.
But it doesn't mean they can stop. He wants to grieve the loss; to give them a proper burial and let them rest. But there's something more pressing.
Something dangerous. And standing there his left eye is once again a pitch black sclera, the iris glowing red. But unlike in the catacombs, his scar is the same sharp, delicately detailed thing it is as ever. And putting his grief aside, his demeanor is quiet and urgent. ]
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They look blackened and cracked. One, a little girl, like she had been turned to stone and started to fracture. Black stars are spread over her skin like measles might. And if touched--
She would crumble to ash in your hands. ]
Todoroki... [ It's quiet, surprised and breathless as his tone sinks at the sight of them. Allen's standing at the mouth of the alleyway the other boy had just come through as well, looking a little breathless and like he had just stopped after running headlong.
His expression twists in a raw sort of anguish at the sight in front of him, swallowing hard as his gaze flickers between Shouto and the piles of clothing. The bodies. It isn't the first time he's seen something like this, but that doesn't make it any easier.
But it doesn't mean they can stop. He wants to grieve the loss; to give them a proper burial and let them rest. But there's something more pressing.
Something dangerous. And standing there his left eye is once again a pitch black sclera, the iris glowing red. But unlike in the catacombs, his scar is the same sharp, delicately detailed thing it is as ever. And putting his grief aside, his demeanor is quiet and urgent. ]
Something is here.