he's a dom. it fits, he thinks, but really he's still submissive to the government, which is a problem. it's sovcit time, babey, but he doesn't have the power to do that. he's also pretty sure he's dead, which is. you know. an issue. he remembers losing, remembers dying.
he's deep in his thoughts as he wanders the city on foot, decompressing, considering his options. he's got a katana on his back too. he also doesn't use it.
he wonders, briefly, what dave is doing. where he's at.
don't matter if he's stuck here. what a shitshow.
he hears a fight though, a pretty brutal one, and goes to see what's going on. what he sees surprises him, a little, and why wouldn't it? ain't no one said anything about alternate universes and shit. he looks, because that's what he looked like as a scrawny teenage shitlord, he remembers well.
he crosses his arms over his chest, coming up alongside this other dirk and not saying a goddamn thing.
his expression doesn't change. ]
Messy.
[ yes, he's critiquing his own fighting skills. dunk yourself, loser. fistfights? too much evidence.
then: ]
Nice pajamas.
[ this is absolutely a shit talking party. fuck you and your pink jammies, teenage self, you look like a fucking queer. ]
a pocket of pennies.
that's all. point blank.
he's a dom. it fits, he thinks, but really he's still submissive to the government, which is a problem. it's sovcit time, babey, but he doesn't have the power to do that. he's also pretty sure he's dead, which is. you know. an issue. he remembers losing, remembers dying.
he's deep in his thoughts as he wanders the city on foot, decompressing, considering his options. he's got a katana on his back too. he also doesn't use it.
he wonders, briefly, what dave is doing. where he's at.
don't matter if he's stuck here. what a shitshow.
he hears a fight though, a pretty brutal one, and goes to see what's going on. what he sees surprises him, a little, and why wouldn't it? ain't no one said anything about alternate universes and shit. he looks, because that's what he looked like as a scrawny teenage shitlord, he remembers well.
he crosses his arms over his chest, coming up alongside this other dirk and not saying a goddamn thing.
his expression doesn't change. ]
Messy.
[ yes, he's critiquing his own fighting skills. dunk yourself, loser. fistfights? too much evidence.
then: ]
Nice pajamas.
[ this is absolutely a shit talking party. fuck you and your pink jammies, teenage self, you look like a fucking queer. ]