[ ranmaru’s eyes widen, the black of his pupils going round before once again narrowing to cat-like slits as chilka exposes the wound on his torso. it’s the kind of wound ranmaru would leave, but their encounters haven’t ever brought him that close. chilka is an even match for him, if not better, and the only circumstance he can imagine himself leaving such a bloody wound would be one of great duress.
he doesn’t recognize it. he’s quiet for some time, before: ]
What happened to you?
[ the question would be insulting, if he could recall the source of the injury. instead, it’s honest, even guileless—yet nearly infuriating in its ignorance. ]
no subject
he doesn’t recognize it. he’s quiet for some time, before: ]
What happened to you?
[ the question would be insulting, if he could recall the source of the injury. instead, it’s honest, even guileless—yet nearly infuriating in its ignorance. ]