"I'm not his keeper..." Schuldig's voice trailed off as something wrenched inside his chest. It was a sensation he hadn't felt since he was a child, under Rosenkreuz's tender ministries - gut-twisting fear. And not even fear of anything in particular, but some nebulous, animalistic awareness that something, somewhere, had gone horribly wrong ( Read more... )

As Aya left the coffee shop, his nose wrinkled slightly against the fresh air. Despite their quaint airs they were always such horrendously smoke-filled places and quickly earned his disdain because of it. He felt what could, he hesitantly admitted, be described as a twinge in his stomach at the memories the clouds of smoke brought ( Read more... )