[ Mikazuki stands next to Cain as the scene unfolds, too steady to be somber. He feels the liveliness of it sticking in the well of his chest where so few things ever surface — the smell of char and dust, the way destruction changes the pressure in the air, the very gravity of their surroundings.
He asks as a sort of lead into something less cursory, watching blood streak hands too small with a stoic sort of familiarity. There's something pressing into his expression that isn't entirely readable.
ii - late with sbux
[ Mikazuki stands next to Cain as the scene unfolds, too steady to be somber. He feels the liveliness of it sticking in the well of his chest where so few things ever surface — the smell of char and dust, the way destruction changes the pressure in the air, the very gravity of their surroundings.
He asks as a sort of lead into something less cursory, watching blood streak hands too small with a stoic sort of familiarity. There's something pressing into his expression that isn't entirely readable.
Something less detached in its patience. ]
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