"Anders," he replies dully, clearly no more heartened by the continuing agreement they seem to be in. "Or at least that's what they call me."
The name his father gave him is something lost, too, but he feels that compulsion less, now. He shudders, as if shaking some unpleasant, unwelcome sensation off, at last, only glancing sidelong at his new acquaintance beside him, brief. Cruel, unvarnished truth is an unpleasant sensation, novel and terrible after so long without. Like plunging into icy, dark water, and feeling every muscle seize up, only barely breaking free of that frozen, breathless sluggishness.
"I think I'd like to get out of here."
Before whatever that black compulsion was comes over him again. He doesn't suspect the skull (isn't even really thinking about it, anymore, actually), but he knows that he doesn't feel - right. Not at all.
no subject
The name his father gave him is something lost, too, but he feels that compulsion less, now. He shudders, as if shaking some unpleasant, unwelcome sensation off, at last, only glancing sidelong at his new acquaintance beside him, brief. Cruel, unvarnished truth is an unpleasant sensation, novel and terrible after so long without. Like plunging into icy, dark water, and feeling every muscle seize up, only barely breaking free of that frozen, breathless sluggishness.
"I think I'd like to get out of here."
Before whatever that black compulsion was comes over him again. He doesn't suspect the skull (isn't even really thinking about it, anymore, actually), but he knows that he doesn't feel - right. Not at all.