[ which was it? call me a good boy or don't call me a good boy? humans were so— ugh. every time he thinks he understands them, something always comes out of nowhere and clocks him in the back of the head like a wayward, airborne patate. there, somewhere deep in his chest, a tight ball grows not entirely unlike the sort that'd make itself known in the years he'd spent following verso and watching.
for a moment he feels a sudden urge to cast this thing aside and abscond into one of the continent's many forests for god only knows how long.
no subject
for a moment he feels a sudden urge to cast this thing aside and abscond into one of the continent's many forests for god only knows how long.
but then it passes. ]