( Red Wine is kind enough, patient enough, Century Egg can recognise these things. knows that the thoughts in his mind aren't fully rational. it's still light outside, he can still see the outlines of other people. the senses being a Food Soul granted him — the ability to pick out soul power in others — no longer exist, but he isn't underground, nor is he alone.
still, those facts don't stop the panic rising in his throat as he dampens the noise of the world around him. everything muffled, footsteps indecipherable, the little noises he'd come to rely on to break the silence back in the Light Kingdom inaccessible with these damn things in his ears.
but it was an order, and it's only the order which prevents Century Egg from tearing the little hunks of rubber straight out of his ears. would Red Wine betray him? there are certainly Food Souls capable of it, a constant war building between two factions that have seen very different sides of humanity. his fingers dig into the old scars on his wrists, ones formed through centuries of being chained in the dark, and though the nerves there have long been rubbed away into nothingness, the texture of damaged skin against the pads of his fingertips helps, somehow.
he isn't there. he can touch skin instead of metal and feel the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. not real. it's not real. it's just a memory. )
Ngh.
( but crossing to where the plants have grown is a relief, and more so when one of them begins shrieking, the noise dampened down to near nothing.
almost like listening to the siblings bicker as he sits outside the hut. )
no subject
still, those facts don't stop the panic rising in his throat as he dampens the noise of the world around him. everything muffled, footsteps indecipherable, the little noises he'd come to rely on to break the silence back in the Light Kingdom inaccessible with these damn things in his ears.
but it was an order, and it's only the order which prevents Century Egg from tearing the little hunks of rubber straight out of his ears. would Red Wine betray him? there are certainly Food Souls capable of it, a constant war building between two factions that have seen very different sides of humanity. his fingers dig into the old scars on his wrists, ones formed through centuries of being chained in the dark, and though the nerves there have long been rubbed away into nothingness, the texture of damaged skin against the pads of his fingertips helps, somehow.
he isn't there. he can touch skin instead of metal and feel the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. not real. it's not real. it's just a memory. )
Ngh.
( but crossing to where the plants have grown is a relief, and more so when one of them begins shrieking, the noise dampened down to near nothing.
almost like listening to the siblings bicker as he sits outside the hut. )