I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
He returns to the river time and again. It is not a home, but it provides familiarity. And in these fucked up times, familiarity is worth something. Even now, with his memories returned, it’s worth something. More in many ways, because his memories are just as fucked up as the rest of this damned world. Over a century’s worth, battling to reclaim their rightful place inside his head, had taken its toll on him. He is tired and annoyed. And just so damned done with it all.
But he’s not. And he never would be. Isn’t that just the kicker? No matter how done he felt, he would keep living. His life would tick away to the rhythm of his heart beating inside his chest. It might pause, but always it restarts. Again and again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
So here is at the river, seeking some iota of comfort from the cold current and damp, muddy banks. He’d prefer to seek that comfort elsewhere, but he’s no fool. That comfort was not meant for him and never would be. No matter what stupid realizations he came to or what idiocies he’d overcome.
When the sound of another approaching reaches his ears, Ashhal scowls deeply before melting into the shadows of a tree. He is in no mood for company. They always seemed to want something more from him than he wanted to give. And unless it was a fuck or fight followed by a quick departure (it so rarely was), he never had what they sought.
She doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the shadows though, instead watching the river. But when her gaze lifts and she grinds out an absent question, the scowl adorning Ashhal’s lips deepens. God, he’d really hoped she wouldn’t notice him here.
“Not a goddamned thing,” he snaps back, his tone matching hers.
@[Sabra]