[ Confrontation triumphs over apathy - he'll take it any day of the weeks he's too oblivious to count, when it comes to the entertainment served by his begrudging animal.
'If he can say it, it is true.' He tries, half-heartedly, to utter the rejection of his supposed futility at any given thing: lips move, sound eludes. Ah. There must be something he too hasn't perfected - something so beyond the scope of his utility that he hasn't even grasped it. Well, then. That can't be helped.
no subject
'If he can say it, it is true.' He tries, half-heartedly, to utter the rejection of his supposed futility at any given thing: lips move, sound eludes. Ah. There must be something he too hasn't perfected - something so beyond the scope of his utility that he hasn't even grasped it. Well, then. That can't be helped.
His hands join Ganymede's upon him, disruptive. ]
What... are you doing, exactly?