[That? That's Rokuta snort-laughing after a stunned moment of silence, shaking his head so his mane flies around him.]
Don't--- really have, a, uh, mother. [The smirk freezes a little as an old, old memory (it still feels fresh, for all that, old resentment, dim fondness, and understanding blending together) of a worn woman with her arms around his siblings, watching the city burn - replaced by a flicker of white and the softness of Yokuhi's feathers. Or, well. The memory of such, though a shadow curls, brief and light, around his ankle before sinking back into the couch properly.]
Other people make 'em. Unless I just pick fruit while I'm out. [A shrug, perhaps not as nonchalant as he's trying to make it, but telling Ragnar some details of how he works is pretty different from revealing anything that implies importance.]
no subject
Don't--- really have, a, uh, mother. [The smirk freezes a little as an old, old memory (it still feels fresh, for all that, old resentment, dim fondness, and understanding blending together) of a worn woman with her arms around his siblings, watching the city burn - replaced by a flicker of white and the softness of Yokuhi's feathers. Or, well. The memory of such, though a shadow curls, brief and light, around his ankle before sinking back into the couch properly.]
Other people make 'em. Unless I just pick fruit while I'm out. [A shrug, perhaps not as nonchalant as he's trying to make it, but telling Ragnar some details of how he works is pretty different from revealing anything that implies importance.]