There's a moment of embarrassing silence before John catches up to himself— it's not her, he already knows it's not her— and he cracks an apologetic smile, raises a hand in a lame little wave. Something in the back of his head is on fire, a great weight within his mind shifting in unease, but that isn't news.
"Hey," he says, "cool cape."
His matches, except that it's done up with goofy rhinestone trim. Otherwise, similar energy: he looks like a low-effort goth walked out of a ren faire, in black shirtsleeves and waistcoat. At least it all goes with the eyes. John knows he doesn't have a lot of room to stare at anybody's eyes.
"What did this guy do?" He tips a hand to the headstone she's apparently, ineffectively, trying to fuck with.
where else but the graveyard
There's a moment of embarrassing silence before John catches up to himself— it's not her, he already knows it's not her— and he cracks an apologetic smile, raises a hand in a lame little wave. Something in the back of his head is on fire, a great weight within his mind shifting in unease, but that isn't news.
"Hey," he says, "cool cape."
His matches, except that it's done up with goofy rhinestone trim. Otherwise, similar energy: he looks like a low-effort goth walked out of a ren faire, in black shirtsleeves and waistcoat. At least it all goes with the eyes. John knows he doesn't have a lot of room to stare at anybody's eyes.
"What did this guy do?" He tips a hand to the headstone she's apparently, ineffectively, trying to fuck with.