(no subject)
When unearthly portals to places with what Moses judges to be an inordinate number of couches keep showing up in one's shower, all things considered the tiny, enormously bescarved boy currently doodling with a piece of charcoal on a convenient patch of Nexus floor figures he is pretty lucky not to be here in a towel. Or worse.
But alas, around here we are not that imaginative, so corduroy jacket and jeans it is. He squishes one miniature fist into the side of his face, leaving a black smudge on one cheek, which he will fail to notice for what might be days. "So--" ....hey, it's a teenager, rather than the nine-year-old one might first presuppose from all five feet and 120 lbs of his general ambiance, "if you were always raised to think violence never solves anything, and you're sort of uncomfortable doing it at all, what do you do when you find out it's your ...you know, your sacred moral obligation to go out and kill stuff?"
'Stuff.' Yes. Stuff.
But alas, around here we are not that imaginative, so corduroy jacket and jeans it is. He squishes one miniature fist into the side of his face, leaving a black smudge on one cheek, which he will fail to notice for what might be days. "So--" ....hey, it's a teenager, rather than the nine-year-old one might first presuppose from all five feet and 120 lbs of his general ambiance, "if you were always raised to think violence never solves anything, and you're sort of uncomfortable doing it at all, what do you do when you find out it's your ...you know, your sacred moral obligation to go out and kill stuff?"
'Stuff.' Yes. Stuff.