[ It's the sound that interrupts John's... brooding—stops him from chasing whispers that make him think of ages past between the peals of thunder outside, make his gut twist in guilt for being unable to find their sources. Lost in darkness that makes him uneasy and chasing phantom lights. The interruption is for the best, because the impact snaps the razor-thin edge of panic running through him, electric current seething under robes he barely remembers, a body that both is and isn't his. Surprise is, it turns out, incredibly useful for disrupting that kind of spiral.
Less useful perhaps is inhuman instinct snaking through superficially human limbs, up his spine to roost in the cradle of his skull. As he whips around to face the source of that sound—and then the question—the long, tendril-like tattered ends of his robe recoil and reach alike, hunting for an anchor, casting shadows that seem too thick and too long and too solid. Rain-soaked hood hanging low, there's little more than shadow to his face—though "face" may be the wrong word...
Ragged edges of fine(?) yellow fabric still seem to twitch with the growl that builds in his chest. It's... strange in sound, his voice. A faintly reverberating baritone, not quite like the thunder outside. Then, venomously: ]
If I fucking knew that, I wouldn't be here, either.
[ You know what? Forget the wrongness of his shadow, the tattered robes that might or might not have a life of their own, the taloned hands wrapped in strips of cloth the same yellow as his robes. His presence is unsettling in an unspeakable way, just a little too much pressure, a little difficult to look at, not quite right somehow, but he's... just. Forget that.
He's just kind of a smartass, huh? A normal amount of smartass for this situation, really. Sorry: John Doe here isn't any more sure of what the fuck's happening than the Wanderer.
A long pause lingers as he composes himself, jaw tight behind the near-featureless mask hidden in the shadow of his hood, and he bobs forward dropping his shoulders to almost hunch animal-like. Maybe necessary as he stands a little too tall compared to most humans. When he speaks again, it's calmer. Still agitated, sure, but collected. ]
You're the first person I've seen in this... place.
[ He's still not sure it is a place. Not convinced it's real. ]
i.
Less useful perhaps is inhuman instinct snaking through superficially human limbs, up his spine to roost in the cradle of his skull. As he whips around to face the source of that sound—and then the question—the long, tendril-like tattered ends of his robe recoil and reach alike, hunting for an anchor, casting shadows that seem too thick and too long and too solid. Rain-soaked hood hanging low, there's little more than shadow to his face—though "face" may be the wrong word...
Ragged edges of fine(?) yellow fabric still seem to twitch with the growl that builds in his chest. It's... strange in sound, his voice. A faintly reverberating baritone, not quite like the thunder outside. Then, venomously: ]
If I fucking knew that, I wouldn't be here, either.
[ You know what? Forget the wrongness of his shadow, the tattered robes that might or might not have a life of their own, the taloned hands wrapped in strips of cloth the same yellow as his robes. His presence is unsettling in an unspeakable way, just a little too much pressure, a little difficult to look at, not quite right somehow, but he's... just. Forget that.
He's just kind of a smartass, huh? A normal amount of smartass for this situation, really. Sorry: John Doe here isn't any more sure of what the fuck's happening than the Wanderer.
A long pause lingers as he composes himself, jaw tight behind the near-featureless mask hidden in the shadow of his hood, and he bobs forward dropping his shoulders to almost hunch animal-like. Maybe necessary as he stands a little too tall compared to most humans. When he speaks again, it's calmer. Still agitated, sure, but collected. ]
You're the first person I've seen in this... place.
[ He's still not sure it is a place. Not convinced it's real. ]