Re: dining area
Edward was no stranger to the danger that his would-be hands presented. Deleterious digits sprouted like sickles from a savage garden. His body, hidden away beneath the bondage and shackles of black leather and steel rings, was a canvas of pink and white scars. Even his face, the only visible part of flawed flesh, was a massacre. Old cuts were now grooves and divots, pale gouges in a leper's bedsheet, sewn over with scar tissue. Every gesticulation brought the penchant for blood, he'd had to replace several eyes during his life in the attic. Although his father was long gone, the man had planned ahead in this. He'd segregated a jar of absinthe to soak the marbles that became Edward's corneas. Maybe his father planned to make more children, maybe that's why there were so many eyes saved up in that jar. After his father died, though, Edward put them to another use; replacement. Sadly, there was only one left by this time, so Edward tried to be ever mindful of his face when he remembered to do so. His modest lack of speech only made things more complicated, sign language had dire consequences if he wasn't tip-toe careful.
They say that the proof is in the pudding, but in bunny's case, the proof was in her stuffing. Her belated cry of pain made Edward pull back. Carpenter claws skittering together in a metallic clang. The ghostly flaneurs were witnesses, but they did not seem worried or concerned; the costumed just kept on dancing. It seemed that the partygoers were too soaked in gin or just too apathetic to care that he'd just gouged the young woman. They weren't going to run him out of the party with fire on the end of angry pikes.. that was a relief. She did not bleed like him, but Edward did not assume that to mean that it had not hurt. He knew first hand just how badly a touch could hurt. Taking a step back to ensure a controlled distance, the boy lowered his hands to his sides. The scissors twitched, restless scythes of self-loathing. He scolded himself and lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry." His voice was soft and child-like, inexperienced with conversation, but plenty familiar with apology. "I.. forgot that I hurt people." How could he have forgotten something so glaringly obvious? He'd always hurt people, and although it was without intention, the result was the same. All he had to do was touch them. Even his best intentions brought ruin and tears. The rabbit girl was not crying, but Edward also knew that being hurt did not always involve tears.
He thought that even if he could not touch her, he could at least answer her question. "It didn't hurt when I was made, that felt good. The hurt came later." He hung his head, scraggly black hair spilled into his face, and the words were whisper soft.