Re: ACTION; (hours later)prayforpreyFebruary 15 2010, 05:06:54 UTC
[ they're back aligned. it's not as surprising as it should be, not at all thrilling or righteous, but it's ... comforting, somehow. sitting with him. breathing the same air, taking in his scent with every spiced breath he breathes, rubbing at the tense muscles of his neck (he needs to meditate, it's second-to-none, but getting high is a decent substitute for when he can't clear his head well enough).
the fox's den is not where he will find the answers to his own hissed questions. houses are not as sacred as homes, and Badou's home is his skin, his cells and his marrow, his scars and his fists he uses to bruise others. that is where he'll find what he wants -- in sadism, in masochism, in want and need and everything that he seeksdesiresgrapples.
the tap on his knee brings his focus back (the one he wasn't evading because of shame, no, never anything like that -- just seeking, a god of the underworld tilting his head over a water trough), sharp and almost painful in the way he snaps his head, stares at the man before him.
Badou isnt' smiling. it's not that kind of offer, nothing coy to draw him in, nothing violent to push him away. but it's ...
he can't get "it's something" out of his head. that's all it is. it's there, it fucking exists, rippling his vision like the sun on asphalt, the smoke-churn in the room.
he's not happy with the reply. he's not unhappy. super monks don't really grasp for satisfaction anyway. he takes it between middle finger and thumb, looks at it (leaves it to sit and burn for a moment, eyes all world between worlds as it gives away life -- who cares, he has more), and tokes.
the fox's den is not where he will find the answers to his own hissed questions. houses are not as sacred as homes, and Badou's home is his skin, his cells and his marrow, his scars and his fists he uses to bruise others. that is where he'll find what he wants -- in sadism, in masochism, in want and need and everything that he seeksdesiresgrapples.
the tap on his knee brings his focus back (the one he wasn't evading because of shame, no, never anything like that -- just seeking, a god of the underworld tilting his head over a water trough), sharp and almost painful in the way he snaps his head, stares at the man before him.
Badou isnt' smiling. it's not that kind of offer, nothing coy to draw him in, nothing violent to push him away. but it's ...
he can't get "it's something" out of his head. that's all it is. it's there, it fucking exists, rippling his vision like the sun on asphalt, the smoke-churn in the room.
he's not happy with the reply. he's not unhappy. super monks don't really grasp for satisfaction anyway. he takes it between middle finger and thumb, looks at it (leaves it to sit and burn for a moment, eyes all world between worlds as it gives away life -- who cares, he has more), and tokes.
it's the only confirmation Badou will get. ]
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