| Pettiness |
[12 Jan 2015|07:31pm] |
[vincent, calisto, julian]
Vincent didn't find himself in public often. Within the confines of Death's Door he was more or less safe. The depraved and degenerate souls that frequented the whorehouse often just as twisted as he was. Just not as sick. His mind gave him few reprieves from its plague but those fleeting lucid moments were something precious. He needed to enjoy them out in the open air.
He had been literate in his youth, before his brain became diseased. He couldn't form the text into letters into words anymore, but he liked to wander the library and pretend. Of course he couldn't just be allowed to pet the books and stroke the pages without the usual gaggle of hecklers. If the youths would have been quiet he could have endured it, but their jeers ( weren't in inside voices. )
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