[ The flinch doesn't pass Ganymede by, as shaken as he is by the viewing of both their memories. It only increases the feeling of wishing to hang on tightly, and firmly.
The flimsy mask has cracks, of which he can see. The tired stoicism isn't exactly an unfamiliar image. Though, the face it's shown upon is far different—his own eyes are still wet, a little unfocused. ]
I doubt it.
As for who I sent my report to...that would be Zelkova. He's reliable, so—you can send one to him too. He'll take it seriously.
[ Ganymede only appears to be unbalanced and maybe a little lost upon closer examination. He doesn't seem able to summon any sort of shaky mask like Michel—he never really was originally the stoic type. He's always been expressive, even in moody silence. He catches the other male searching...and wonders something—a thought that pokes through the fog.
But, he only manages his question, not finished as this: ]
no subject
The flimsy mask has cracks, of which he can see. The tired stoicism isn't exactly an unfamiliar image. Though, the face it's shown upon is far different—his own eyes are still wet, a little unfocused. ]
I doubt it.
As for who I sent my report to...that would be Zelkova. He's reliable, so—you can send one to him too. He'll take it seriously.
[ Ganymede only appears to be unbalanced and maybe a little lost upon closer examination. He doesn't seem able to summon any sort of shaky mask like Michel—he never really was originally the stoic type. He's always been expressive, even in moody silence. He catches the other male searching...and wonders something—a thought that pokes through the fog.
But, he only manages his question, not finished as this: ]
...Winter?