I'm speechless.
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Post by quincys on Jan 23, 2016 2:00:14 GMT -8
Owen's fit of anger didn't shake Saoirse's resolve, her eyes still looking at them like there was a fire hidden inside. "They struggle because they're trying to stay alive." Saoirse would state, checking her phone and realizing the time. She'd be late. Greaat.
Getting up with leftovers in tow, she just shot Owen a look. "No, I'm not giving you my hand....I'm already late....and why the hell would I wanna go on an adventure with a boy that thinks he's dead and that killing people is an acceptable thing to do?"
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remember me as i was.
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Post by quinnquinn on Jan 23, 2016 2:06:55 GMT -8
If she didn't want to give him her hand, he'll just take it. He held her free wrist and pulled it towards his head. "Just let me show you." He turned his head to the side and put her hand somewhere on the back of his skull. If she was daring enough to feel around, she would feel raised scars under the skin, from where bone had been shattered. Owen moved her hand around his head. There were more sections here and there that felt broken. And yet, there were no signs of surgical work, no metal, no screws, nothing. Just merged together bone and skin, with dents in between.
"I am dead." he said one more time, letting go of his rough grip.
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I'm speechless.
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Post by quincys on Jan 23, 2016 15:18:03 GMT -8
Saoirse did not expect Owen to forcefully grab her wrist, struggling as soon as he grabbed it and started to place it against his head. Seriously what the fuck was his problem? "Let go of me," Saoirse calmly told him, tone cold as steel as she did not try to feel his head.
She would continue to try and be released from his grip before she loudly stated, "I SAID, LET GO OF ME!" Right as she said that he finally released her, bringing her wrist back to her chest and noting people starting to turn their head towards here. Great. She hated bringing attention to herself like this. "It was....nice meeting you....whoever you are."
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remember me as i was.
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Post by quinnquinn on Jan 24, 2016 0:58:42 GMT -8
All he let out was a loud "AH!" as he let go of her. The rest of the diner had noticed the commotion now. The human staff would forget, at least, so Owen had no problems.
"I am Owen Quinn." He told her. "I died in 1863 at the XXXX Institution for the Mentally Insane." Not that it would help, he thought. His records were long gone somewhere, as far as he knew.
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I'm speechless.
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Post by quincys on Jan 27, 2016 17:22:41 GMT -8
"Right....sure......thanks.....Owen," She'd note, skepticism in her tone as she turned from him, the other patrons returning to their business like nothing really happened. Owen Quinn.....Owen Quinn....Owen Quinn. She'd need to look him up...need to remember his name. Age has made it harder for her to remember people's names and faces sometimes....or just what they told her....she wasn't getting any younger after all.
So she left the dinner, leftovers in hand, walking like her feet were on fire and heart beating a million miles a minute...leaving Owen alone in the dinner once more.
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