[ Matt had an exceptionally poor night's sleep. That would've been fine--"Aion," "functionally immortal," etc., etc.--except his hand was fucking killing him the whole time. Or rather, his lack of hand. His lacuna. The spot his brain keeps sending electric impulse to, only for the neurotransmitters to lemming themselves off the cliff of his fucking stump. He falls into a layer cake dream where his hand is back, then gone upon waking, then back and gone again in a variety of idiosyncratic ways: put through a meat grinder, pulled off like the hand of a mannequin, crushed between rocks in the ocean. The whole time, his vanished fingers hurt.
The news is worse when he wakes up, because a new name has been added to the Kenomas' list. And unlike the ones Matt's seen previously, this one is familiar.
Of all the people he'd expect to attract the attention of the Regent, she isn't one of them. She's a fucking sculptor. What could she have done? In a brief flutter of paranoia, Matt wonders if she's on the list just because she hosted him (and Thoma, and Kaeya). That's probably not true, but like ... what the fuck is?
He skips breakfast entirely, grabbing his mug of coffee and straight-up walking out of the inn with it. He doesn't need to check his map; he knows where to find her workshop. Matt rounds the familiar corner and approaches the storefront, which he can tell from some yards off is empty. Drawing closer only cements that impression. No one is visible through the front window, and no sound comes from within.
He can't knock on the door and hold onto his coffee, so with a frustrated huff, Matt focuses his mind and his breathing for the moments it takes to suspend the mug in midair. His now-free hand raps on the sturdy wood. ]
@pinkeyed - after the first few days (cw: some more gory stuff)
The news is worse when he wakes up, because a new name has been added to the Kenomas' list. And unlike the ones Matt's seen previously, this one is familiar.
Of all the people he'd expect to attract the attention of the Regent, she isn't one of them. She's a fucking sculptor. What could she have done? In a brief flutter of paranoia, Matt wonders if she's on the list just because she hosted him (and Thoma, and Kaeya). That's probably not true, but like ... what the fuck is?
He skips breakfast entirely, grabbing his mug of coffee and straight-up walking out of the inn with it. He doesn't need to check his map; he knows where to find her workshop. Matt rounds the familiar corner and approaches the storefront, which he can tell from some yards off is empty. Drawing closer only cements that impression. No one is visible through the front window, and no sound comes from within.
He can't knock on the door and hold onto his coffee, so with a frustrated huff, Matt focuses his mind and his breathing for the moments it takes to suspend the mug in midair. His now-free hand raps on the sturdy wood. ]
Flora?