[A feeling of warmth floods him, soothing his disconcertion, and he relaxes almost at once. Closing his eyes, he shuts out both of the others, reaching out a mental hand to the spirit. It's like a child reaching out to its parent. Almost enough to make him laugh. He's no child... but those feelings don't go away. Wordlessly, he slumps to lie on the ground.
Who are you...? Why do I feel like I know you? he asks quietly, and receives only those warm feelings wrapping around him in response. Protective... this warmth is...? But this is absurd. He can tell this is a spirit born of hatred. The feeling emanates from it as easily as he feels its sickening light. Why is it so warm towards him? It's a being of purity and a being of hatred. Two conflicting sides. A twisted mess that should not feel so comfortable as to play with him so easily. It shouldn't even exist. He can tell that much. It's... unnatural.
Something was wrong here. Can't you speak? he wonders, and the answer returns in feelings rather than words. Something seems to be coiling around his spirit protectively, foregoing the contact of words. A feeling that can only be called 'agreement'. Tch... so there will be no answer there. If it can't speak, how will he know-?
I need your power... will you lend it to me?
The demand comes clumsily, spilling into his mind from a stray thought. He mentally slaps himself for being so clumsy as to just blurt it out, but there's no anger in response. Something else surges, however. A possessiveness. Protectiveness. Devotion.
What the hell is this card?]
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
I need to find out where the fuck she got this card.
no subject
Who are you...? Why do I feel like I know you? he asks quietly, and receives only those warm feelings wrapping around him in response. Protective... this warmth is...? But this is absurd. He can tell this is a spirit born of hatred. The feeling emanates from it as easily as he feels its sickening light. Why is it so warm towards him? It's a being of purity and a being of hatred. Two conflicting sides. A twisted mess that should not feel so comfortable as to play with him so easily. It shouldn't even exist. He can tell that much. It's... unnatural.
Something was wrong here. Can't you speak? he wonders, and the answer returns in feelings rather than words. Something seems to be coiling around his spirit protectively, foregoing the contact of words. A feeling that can only be called 'agreement'. Tch... so there will be no answer there. If it can't speak, how will he know-?
I need your power... will you lend it to me?
The demand comes clumsily, spilling into his mind from a stray thought. He mentally slaps himself for being so clumsy as to just blurt it out, but there's no anger in response. Something else surges, however. A possessiveness. Protectiveness. Devotion.
What the hell is this card?]
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
I need to find out where the fuck she got this card.