worceracs, raeppasid
The cats seem to sense that he's leaving. Some crowd around his legs, meowing piteously. Others strike off at lazy intervals, finally ready to try their luck in the rest of the city.
He's not sure why they've stayed so long. He's never fed or paid any attention to them, except for that one time... perhaps that was enough.
"No, haha. No more dead bodies for you," he says merrily, loading his wrist apparatus with another long, thin canister. A long time ago, when he was first refining the chemical compounds of that little blue flower, he used to test the toxin on stray cats. He's only thought of that now, for some reason.
Because he's gone, as those days are. He disappears like the fine particles of his toxin into air, leaving behind a misted presence that persists hollowly in his absence. He isn't Jonathan Crane. He has no name. Just that lingering dryness in the throat, the need for silence, the desire for dispersion. Because he's gone. All that's left behind are the cats and one empty canister.
He's not sure why they've stayed so long. He's never fed or paid any attention to them, except for that one time... perhaps that was enough.
"No, haha. No more dead bodies for you," he says merrily, loading his wrist apparatus with another long, thin canister. A long time ago, when he was first refining the chemical compounds of that little blue flower, he used to test the toxin on stray cats. He's only thought of that now, for some reason.
Because he's gone, as those days are. He disappears like the fine particles of his toxin into air, leaving behind a misted presence that persists hollowly in his absence. He isn't Jonathan Crane. He has no name. Just that lingering dryness in the throat, the need for silence, the desire for dispersion. Because he's gone. All that's left behind are the cats and one empty canister.