06-26-2019, 02:32 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Didn't feel fair to blame anyone but yourself for how you ended up. V's not the sort of person that makes a habit of introspection; doesn't look inside or outside  life's what's in front of him and that's the end of it. The idea that his life was the result of anyone else's decisions or existence is foreign, strange. It'd be easier to blame them, wouldn't it? Easier to pretend that he could have been anything other than what he was now. Nah, every path would have led him here, he thinks. To these hands with blood dried in the creases of their palms and underneath his nails, to sharp golden eyes that always ended up watching other people bleed too. Feed the blood on his hands. There's no secret softness to him, nothing worth missing or raising a kid over. And more importantly, V doesn't want that. Doesn't crave it the way some others might. Love and family and safety.
But watching from a distance as this child plays with grass is unsettling. His fingers twitch and tap on his thigh, curl over the claws he keeps just at his knuckles, then splay flat and dig in  anything at all, and eventually Volatile does something he never does around anyone with a weapon (he can see Kit's so clearly) and tears them off of his hands, shoving them into a pocket of his jeans and slowly taking a few silent strides closer. Crouched and wary like a wild animal not sure if he can trust even the child he's staring at, tossing glances to Kit like he knows she'll know he's there no matter how quiet he is. Must be a thing with mothers, right? Still, he sits slowly and leans forward, plucking an even longer strand of grass from the earth and offering it to the boy (Vinny?) with what tries, and maybe fails, to be a friendly smile.
But watching from a distance as this child plays with grass is unsettling. His fingers twitch and tap on his thigh, curl over the claws he keeps just at his knuckles, then splay flat and dig in  anything at all, and eventually Volatile does something he never does around anyone with a weapon (he can see Kit's so clearly) and tears them off of his hands, shoving them into a pocket of his jeans and slowly taking a few silent strides closer. Crouched and wary like a wild animal not sure if he can trust even the child he's staring at, tossing glances to Kit like he knows she'll know he's there no matter how quiet he is. Must be a thing with mothers, right? Still, he sits slowly and leans forward, plucking an even longer strand of grass from the earth and offering it to the boy (Vinny?) with what tries, and maybe fails, to be a friendly smile.
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