(no subject)
Santino, his room.
Silent.
He had exhaled the air in his lungs, stopped moving. Stripped himeself from the humanity he pretended to have.
And listened- to them, the patrons- wave after wave of thoughts, of hearbeats, noise and energy. Listening to the little signals they put out, like any functioning system.
several books, open to various pages, were strewn about the desk before him. Surrounding him with things he like, things he loves. Knowledge he can attest to.
Waiting. Maybe.
Silent.
He had exhaled the air in his lungs, stopped moving. Stripped himeself from the humanity he pretended to have.
And listened- to them, the patrons- wave after wave of thoughts, of hearbeats, noise and energy. Listening to the little signals they put out, like any functioning system.
several books, open to various pages, were strewn about the desk before him. Surrounding him with things he like, things he loves. Knowledge he can attest to.
Waiting. Maybe.