LA FEE VERTE | OPEN, JOINING

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[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"][align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Elwin's already-pink face turns a bright shade of red. He pulls the end of his jacket further around his skinny torso, annoyed whine dying in his throat. The first thing most people said to him tended to be either you're so tall! or are you really sixteen? followed by curious pokes at his stomach or ribs, hands held to the tops of their heads then held to where they'd come up to his shoulder or chest. Elwin would take it because most of the people in his life, up until a few hours ago, had been his Grandpa's age or older, and God forbid he disrespect them.

But Damien isn't old, and Grandpa's already pissed at him, so he shoots him an angry, indignant glare and says through his teeth, "Shut up."

He decides to focus on the glowing end of Edmund's cigarette again. It may make his hands twitch, but it's otherwise soothing to watch. Elwin tries to take some pleasure in the memory of his childhood home burning to the ground, but the feeling is overpowered by overwhelming guilt. Could it be called that? Does he really feel bad, or is he just upset that there were consequences for his actions?

"Elwin," he mumbles, back to nursing his jaw. "Can I sleep here?" If not, he'd run up the mountain for no good reason at all.