[ That question is just too close, to near. The magic dies on his hand as quick as he can make it ( and it's hard, because it wants and wants and wants and too much of a reflexive these days. too easily reached for ) his hands drop to his lap, fingers wrapping around the mark, pressing harshly into it like it might help it still under his skin. Even then it's difficult.
He's a poor liar, he knew that, so he says nothing of it instead, easier to ignore and he'd been become so practiced in that. ]
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He's a poor liar, he knew that, so he says nothing of it instead, easier to ignore and he'd been become so practiced in that. ]
Worked out the guns yet?