Even in the most orderly universe, there is a bit of chaos. Flaws in the pattern.
Another one of these, though this one is inextricably tied to the order its nature would seek to corrupt, has claimed the couch near Vincent's chair as its territory, lounging there at ease.
"Evening, Vincent," it says with a lopsided smile.
At least Yrael's not a cat tonight, asking to be petted. There's still something this side of unseemly about it when it happens, but... he should be glad. Most animals don't particularly care for him.
Yrael has little problem with little-c chaos, and while he can sense something else there, he has no problem with Vincent. He counts him a friend, even if they do not often see each other.
That... is a question he rarely answers honestly: the answer to it is often one he's loathe to give. Nobody wants to hear driven insane by thirty years' imprisonment in a coffin, and you? Polite society doesn't function that way.
He's glad not to be a card-holding member of polite society. It means that the small falsehoods don't matter so very much; he goes ahead and tells the lie.
"All right." In truth it's been a great many years -- decades even -- since he could have described himself honestly as all right. Yrael doesn't need to know this. He doesn't need to know about the relentless cloud of inner demons that plague his thoughts.
Nobody needs to know about that aspect of his life. Instead, he raises his glass and takes a sip.
"Any murders lately?" It's not a very good joke, but at least it's an attempt.
Comments 20
Another one of these, though this one is inextricably tied to the order its nature would seek to corrupt, has claimed the couch near Vincent's chair as its territory, lounging there at ease.
"Evening, Vincent," it says with a lopsided smile.
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At least Yrael's not a cat tonight, asking to be petted. There's still something this side of unseemly about it when it happens, but... he should be glad. Most animals don't particularly care for him.
He blames that on Chaos.
There is much he could blame on Chaos.
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"How have you been?"
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He's glad not to be a card-holding member of polite society. It means that the small falsehoods don't matter so very much; he goes ahead and tells the lie.
"All right." In truth it's been a great many years -- decades even -- since he could have described himself honestly as all right. Yrael doesn't need to know this. He doesn't need to know about the relentless cloud of inner demons that plague his thoughts.
Nobody needs to know about that aspect of his life. Instead, he raises his glass and takes a sip.
"Any murders lately?" It's not a very good joke, but at least it's an attempt.
Reply
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