[Brown eyes darken, damp earth oversaturated from heavy rains, bound to drown the budding seeds buried beneath. Thereβs a harsh exhalation from Stiles, a sound wrenched with an emotion he doesnβt want to acknowledge, and then heβs abruptly pushing away from the table to stand.]
I need a minute. [His voice shakes, traitorous and weak.] Justβstay.
[Stiles remains in view, for the most part. Looking seconds away from a mental breakdown, he paces the establishmentβrestless energy rolling off him in stressful waves, alarming the other patrons. For whatever reason, the proprietress allows it; when a server marches in the teenβs wake, clearly intending to stop him from disturbing the atmosphere, Jin Mingming waves her off with a sharp gesture. The scene continues for roughly three minutes. Three minutes of Stilesβ too powerful sense of empathy wringing his heart over the idea of ten thousand yearsβbecause even at the tender age of seventeen, he can suspect with visceral horror the loneliness, the hopelessness, the resignation, the loss and loss and loss and loss and loss, ten thousand years carving out a manβs sanity. The alcohol in his belly is too warm as he stiffly returns to his seat, teasing his esophagus with bubbling acid.
The Nogitsune is a millennium old. Nine tails earned over ten centuries of torment. And that is little more than a droplet of water in the ancient ocean Cyram has allegedly lived. Itβs too vast. Itβs too alien. Stiles doesnβt want to peer into this terrifying abyss any longer, but he doesnβt know how to avert his gaze now.]
If youβre lying to me, [comes a furious whisper as he draws his hoodie up over his head and tries to sink into the comfort of the weight, eyes lowered to conceal how wet they are,] Iβm gonna be so fucking pissed.
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Date: 2024-01-22 11:01 pm (UTC)I need a minute. [His voice shakes, traitorous and weak.] Justβstay.
[Stiles remains in view, for the most part. Looking seconds away from a mental breakdown, he paces the establishmentβrestless energy rolling off him in stressful waves, alarming the other patrons. For whatever reason, the proprietress allows it; when a server marches in the teenβs wake, clearly intending to stop him from disturbing the atmosphere, Jin Mingming waves her off with a sharp gesture. The scene continues for roughly three minutes. Three minutes of Stilesβ too powerful sense of empathy wringing his heart over the idea of ten thousand yearsβbecause even at the tender age of seventeen, he can suspect with visceral horror the loneliness, the hopelessness, the resignation, the loss and loss and loss and loss and loss, ten thousand years carving out a manβs sanity. The alcohol in his belly is too warm as he stiffly returns to his seat, teasing his esophagus with bubbling acid.
The Nogitsune is a millennium old. Nine tails earned over ten centuries of torment. And that is little more than a droplet of water in the ancient ocean Cyram has allegedly lived. Itβs too vast. Itβs too alien. Stiles doesnβt want to peer into this terrifying abyss any longer, but he doesnβt know how to avert his gaze now.]
If youβre lying to me, [comes a furious whisper as he draws his hoodie up over his head and tries to sink into the comfort of the weight, eyes lowered to conceal how wet they are,] Iβm gonna be so fucking pissed.