[For the number of times this guy had fought for that sword, against that sword, or someone who held that sword that was not his brother, he doesn't exactly get a visceral reaction at how she just so easily snatches it from its perch.
Which is, in and of itself, intriguing.
The Yamato tends to sing to him. If by singing, you mean the guttural pull of his own blood begging to surface into the outmost layer of his skin, at least. This, however, is a lot more cerebral, tickles at his brain more than his heart, and that.
That is weird. Even in this person's grasp, the sword materializes into something unsteady and fickle to his eyes.
It looks like the Yamato. It sounds like the Yamato when it swings to and fro. But it's… not.
He's not sure that's a good thing.] Siblings? [How come that felt like a bullseye?] Thought the end of the world came with horsemen or something? A lot more pizzazz?
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Which is, in and of itself, intriguing.
The Yamato tends to sing to him. If by singing, you mean the guttural pull of his own blood begging to surface into the outmost layer of his skin, at least. This, however, is a lot more cerebral, tickles at his brain more than his heart, and that.
That is weird. Even in this person's grasp, the sword materializes into something unsteady and fickle to his eyes.
It looks like the Yamato. It sounds like the Yamato when it swings to and fro. But it's… not.
He's not sure that's a good thing.] Siblings? [How come that felt like a bullseye?] Thought the end of the world came with horsemen or something? A lot more pizzazz?