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[/table]
 can we just quit breathing â€â€
[table]Through thin liquid veils, Rin's eyes haphazardly locked with another pair of eyes belonging to a figure just his height. Between them, a staff of a wood he did not care to analyze; wielded at him in no other way than that of a weapon. Those water working orbs wilted to the stick and Rin's mind fell into an abyss heralding disappointment. [i]This is Flint Lock.
He did not expect people from all angles, crooks, and crannies to race to his aid and welcome him the way his friends had painted verbally the illusion of Flint Lock. Rin had hoped in fact that if this place was truly safe and sound that it would not just let anyone in, there were clearly dangerous people among the world. And in a clearer state of mind, actions and the perception of this figure in front of him could have made sense. Rin was a stranger who had stumbled in unannounced, a stray dog wandering into a pack. But Rin was not preserving that logic and understanding this time.
Rin's stained cheeks prickled with heat and his rheumy ellipses gained a new haze. Anger glossed those stressed ocular fibers. The failure of the journey, the feeling of their loss, and this slap in the face fueled Rin's frustrations with just about everything. His grasp on rational, one of a few things his friends knew him for, had slipped away into that bleak abyss. He was thinking very little and feeling heavily, lacking control of himself. Chapped lips brazened a snarl that held no noise and tears continued to troublesomely dirty his alabaster face. His left arm was a limb out of commission, it's presence felt but neglected having been swamped in his friend's loss. His right however tightened and bubbled with the same frustration, very much alive. Rin's right gripped the staff shaking in sweltering resentment, but other than that did not yet commit to anymore physical actions.
Rin wanted to pound this kid around like his friends and he had been. The rusty haired phantom was envisioning it now, using the stick pointed at him. He stood their boiling in his misguided hatred. Well, am I going to do it? Can I do it? Don't they deserve it? Doesn't he deserve it? Who was Rin even inquiring these thoughts to, no one but himself. Some pigment in his mind no matter how devoid of color knew that this wasn't someone he was going to displace his anger onto. However, he still did not let go of the wood sharing their hands. His grip was still malignant powered by his agony.
"Who are you... ...what's with your arm?"
Rin's brows knitted in uncertainty, was that concern or was that him mocking Rin? He tempered his urge to strike the stick back into the boy's direction, entertaining the result of it catching him in the abdomen and sending the person flying backwards onto the snow plastered earth. He did not yet know why he held back, why he chose to swallow his impulse for the time being and grind his teeth. Rin's voice trembled, having to fight to make sound as upset as he was. It was by no means bashful or shy, but vexed with despair and diluted by bitterness [b]"I'm ...I'm ...I'm Rin." His breaths were anything except placid and maybe not even normal. They were huffs and the lungs in his air and throat grated against their walls. His arm. He knew it wasn't in great shape, but was any part of him really? He hadn't given his loose hanging limb much attention. It being brought up now did incite partial acknowledgement to it painfully throbbing and the lower end of it numb. The pain however was still dulled by his adrenaline and his emotional turmoil. "What about my arm"
He did not expect people from all angles, crooks, and crannies to race to his aid and welcome him the way his friends had painted verbally the illusion of Flint Lock. Rin had hoped in fact that if this place was truly safe and sound that it would not just let anyone in, there were clearly dangerous people among the world. And in a clearer state of mind, actions and the perception of this figure in front of him could have made sense. Rin was a stranger who had stumbled in unannounced, a stray dog wandering into a pack. But Rin was not preserving that logic and understanding this time.
Rin's stained cheeks prickled with heat and his rheumy ellipses gained a new haze. Anger glossed those stressed ocular fibers. The failure of the journey, the feeling of their loss, and this slap in the face fueled Rin's frustrations with just about everything. His grasp on rational, one of a few things his friends knew him for, had slipped away into that bleak abyss. He was thinking very little and feeling heavily, lacking control of himself. Chapped lips brazened a snarl that held no noise and tears continued to troublesomely dirty his alabaster face. His left arm was a limb out of commission, it's presence felt but neglected having been swamped in his friend's loss. His right however tightened and bubbled with the same frustration, very much alive. Rin's right gripped the staff shaking in sweltering resentment, but other than that did not yet commit to anymore physical actions.
Rin wanted to pound this kid around like his friends and he had been. The rusty haired phantom was envisioning it now, using the stick pointed at him. He stood their boiling in his misguided hatred. Well, am I going to do it? Can I do it? Don't they deserve it? Doesn't he deserve it? Who was Rin even inquiring these thoughts to, no one but himself. Some pigment in his mind no matter how devoid of color knew that this wasn't someone he was going to displace his anger onto. However, he still did not let go of the wood sharing their hands. His grip was still malignant powered by his agony.
"Who are you... ...what's with your arm?"
Rin's brows knitted in uncertainty, was that concern or was that him mocking Rin? He tempered his urge to strike the stick back into the boy's direction, entertaining the result of it catching him in the abdomen and sending the person flying backwards onto the snow plastered earth. He did not yet know why he held back, why he chose to swallow his impulse for the time being and grind his teeth. Rin's voice trembled, having to fight to make sound as upset as he was. It was by no means bashful or shy, but vexed with despair and diluted by bitterness [b]"I'm ...I'm ...I'm Rin." His breaths were anything except placid and maybe not even normal. They were huffs and the lungs in his air and throat grated against their walls. His arm. He knew it wasn't in great shape, but was any part of him really? He hadn't given his loose hanging limb much attention. It being brought up now did incite partial acknowledgement to it painfully throbbing and the lower end of it numb. The pain however was still dulled by his adrenaline and his emotional turmoil. "What about my arm"
thes code
RIn
[b]Trigger Warnings
 sadness, mentions of violence, death, onset of depression & grieving
status
 left arm lame & infected, needs to be amputated
 sadness, mentions of violence, death, onset of depression & grieving
status
 left arm lame & infected, needs to be amputated