Our shar— [He stops talking, mouth immediately opening to say whatever words lodge in his mind like an opinion, and his instincts snapping it shut. He only needs to talk in his mind, like a hypothetical. The rational part of him raises its hackles. This is not supposed to happen.
Unconsciously, he raises his hand to touch at his solar plexus, where he had felt a very uncomfortable and yet, strangely not painful, protuberance. Jagged and definitely not supposed to belong there, he felt no signs of infection, even though he expected them, having deemed it the reason why he died, or came here. Shrapnel. The kind that lingers but doesn't pose a threat.] This?
[What the everloving fuck??]
Y'er kidding me. ['Yes,' in Mamorese. It's his first time.]
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Unconsciously, he raises his hand to touch at his solar plexus, where he had felt a very uncomfortable and yet, strangely not painful, protuberance. Jagged and definitely not supposed to belong there, he felt no signs of infection, even though he expected them, having deemed it the reason why he died, or came here. Shrapnel. The kind that lingers but doesn't pose a threat.] This?
[What the everloving fuck??]
Y'er kidding me. ['Yes,' in Mamorese. It's his first time.]