12-08-2015, 01:18 AM
(This post was last modified: 02-25-2016, 04:02 PM by R A P S C A L L I O N.)
I am the Patron Saint of Lost Causes
He was correct in his previous assumption, his answer would not suffice for Wichita. Her newfound empathy had her asking many questions but he wondered if she really thought about this in depth, clearly she could put the pieces together. The buckskin wonders in that moment, too, if he should reply dishonestly to keep the fact he's a sociopath as hidden as possible. Feelings. He's heard lots of others talk about them, supposedly express them but he is not sure he has ever felt something. He tries to dig deep, to a time where perhaps his thoughts could be mistaken as feelings. For maybe a time where he did feel.
"I can't really recall. I think maybe when I was born, perhaps I felt something along the lines of what you mean. My mother told me feelings are irrelevant, so I never learned to categorize them much less express them,"he says this and goes back to his childhood. It was nothing more than an education and being taught about things a young man should but shouldn't. At least not in that depth. He shouldn't know by the age of a year all the inner politics, which leaders have murdered, which should be murdered, etc. He didn't particularly have a childhood when you think about it. He is spaced out when Wichita comes closer to him, when her mug touches his chest he quivers - it sends a chill up his legs and through his spinal cord; a shudder comes. If he could feel anything, in this moment he would probably feel creepy and slightly turned on. His body mechanics would suggest he feels that - sexual want.
He quickly retracts from her, pulling away to the left some. He feels something now, his throat feels as though it's closing up. His heart rate increases, his olfactory sensory taking her in. His eyes flutter with wild excitement but he quickly shuts these thoughts down. Inappropriate he thinks and then normal. primal. He is so conflicted. He is thankful when her subject changes to her children, he had a child he remembered; with Sunday an Amazon mare. He thinks he should check on them. "I have a child, a few probably, but one with the Amazon mare - Sunday. Do you know her? She's very intriguing, I want to see her mind," he says, not thinking just how strange that might sound. He also doesn't regard the general feeling that Wichita may be coming onto him. He's not observant of sexuality in himself often, much less of others. "I suppose that if I were around someone repeatedly enough I could be bothered to think of their existence and it's relation to me," he isn't sure what he means by this; is this admittance of a possibility that feelings exist?
Not quite but it's not a definitive 'no'.
"I can't really recall. I think maybe when I was born, perhaps I felt something along the lines of what you mean. My mother told me feelings are irrelevant, so I never learned to categorize them much less express them,"he says this and goes back to his childhood. It was nothing more than an education and being taught about things a young man should but shouldn't. At least not in that depth. He shouldn't know by the age of a year all the inner politics, which leaders have murdered, which should be murdered, etc. He didn't particularly have a childhood when you think about it. He is spaced out when Wichita comes closer to him, when her mug touches his chest he quivers - it sends a chill up his legs and through his spinal cord; a shudder comes. If he could feel anything, in this moment he would probably feel creepy and slightly turned on. His body mechanics would suggest he feels that - sexual want.
He quickly retracts from her, pulling away to the left some. He feels something now, his throat feels as though it's closing up. His heart rate increases, his olfactory sensory taking her in. His eyes flutter with wild excitement but he quickly shuts these thoughts down. Inappropriate he thinks and then normal. primal. He is so conflicted. He is thankful when her subject changes to her children, he had a child he remembered; with Sunday an Amazon mare. He thinks he should check on them. "I have a child, a few probably, but one with the Amazon mare - Sunday. Do you know her? She's very intriguing, I want to see her mind," he says, not thinking just how strange that might sound. He also doesn't regard the general feeling that Wichita may be coming onto him. He's not observant of sexuality in himself often, much less of others. "I suppose that if I were around someone repeatedly enough I could be bothered to think of their existence and it's relation to me," he isn't sure what he means by this; is this admittance of a possibility that feelings exist?
Not quite but it's not a definitive 'no'.
R A P S C A L L I O N
the sociopathic private of the gates