[ He doesn’t flinch. Well. The fleshy, broken part of him still measuring out milk and cream doesn’t flinch. Hierophant’s tendrils turn as one from their tasks of grating chocolate and looking around for a suitable saucepan and mugs and separating the bag of tiny marshmallows into piles of different colours, forming a wall of glinting green glass knives between the two of them. And then they relax, returning to their work.
(A small part of him wishes he hadn’t stopped. He’s already dead, after all, and Jotaro would hate Adrian if those claws had gone through him. They’d never speak again. And oh, Jotaro would be miserable. And he’d be dead again. But he’d win.) ]
I’m making hot chocolate. [ He says it, as if breaking into someone’s house to make hot chocolate is a normal thing that normal people do. ]
no subject
[ He doesn’t flinch. Well. The fleshy, broken part of him still measuring out milk and cream doesn’t flinch. Hierophant’s tendrils turn as one from their tasks of grating chocolate and looking around for a suitable saucepan and mugs and separating the bag of tiny marshmallows into piles of different colours, forming a wall of glinting green glass knives between the two of them. And then they relax, returning to their work.
(A small part of him wishes he hadn’t stopped. He’s already dead, after all, and Jotaro would hate Adrian if those claws had gone through him. They’d never speak again. And oh, Jotaro would be miserable. And he’d be dead again. But he’d win.) ]
I’m making hot chocolate. [ He says it, as if breaking into someone’s house to make hot chocolate is a normal thing that normal people do. ]