jenny you're barely alive
Barefoot, Eddie moves across the Nexus while picking at a roll of bandages in his hands. The bandages may be for the two mangled wing stubs protruding through crusted slits in his shirt; they twist and curl in on themselves, sad and jagged as they ooze blood and ichor from choppy bits of uprooted feathers. He drips as he walks, sometimes shedding small plops of flesh and leaving a bit of a mess in his wake. Those with enhanced senses may note the blood smells peculiar, neither human nor animal, and that the ichor has a scent not unlike brandy.
"Sorry, but can someone... y'know..." he gestures at his back helplessly-- he can't bandage himself up. "But as a real question, I was wondering. What's your relationship with pain? Do you give it, receive it? How intimately do you know it? What would it take for you to hurt me?"
"Sorry, but can someone... y'know..." he gestures at his back helplessly-- he can't bandage himself up. "But as a real question, I was wondering. What's your relationship with pain? Do you give it, receive it? How intimately do you know it? What would it take for you to hurt me?"