[mirror]

[echo_my_life]

[The Mirror kicks in to show that the Chanter is on it's side. And there's a mess in this alleyway that the Chanter shows. It looks like blood. Off to the side is Echo, looking at the wall with the blood smear, oblivious that her hands are coated with it and her face has spackle on it. Off to the opposite side is a form that's moaning low,

Comments

[demonwrestler]

Did you do that?

[echo_my_life]

Do you like the painting?

[demonwrestler]

I have done my share.

[echo_my_life]

I think this is a boat.

[Lump that's still trying to get away]

Tha's my blood, you bitch.

...

Definitely a boat.

[demonwrestler]

Perhaps it would be best to...refrain from further painting, for the time being.

[echo_my_life]

-=looks confused. As if she wants to ask why, but doesn't.=-

[demonwrestler]

[He shifts uncomfortably. Mental Illness is not his forte.]

[echo_my_life]

Where's Al?

[demonwrestler]

I...am not sure.

Why?

[echo_my_life]

-=frowns a bit. Then seems to change the subject=-

His hand's hurt. -=referring to the lump that's now almost escaped.=-

[demonwrestler]

"Painting" often does that...

[echo_my_life]

-=gives Valen a 'this does not compute' look=-

My hands don't hurt when I paint.

[demonwrestler]

That is because you don't use your own blood.

[echo_my_life]

Blood?

[demonwrestler]

[He face looks like he wants to say "I am nowhere near drunk enough for this shit".]

Where are you?

[echo_my_life]

-=points=-

By the wall with the boat painting.