[ As Simon's words sink in, Farfarello's face crumples. Releasing Simon's sleeve he takes a step back, clutching his hands together in a writhing, white-knuckled knot over his heart. His mind doesn't remember how to pray, but his body almost does.
They didn't tell you? So he was right -- his god wasn't simply late. ]
He's not coming.
[ There's a faint lilt to his words, not dissimilar from Badger's accent... although Badger never sounded this lost. ]
no subject
They didn't tell you? So he was right -- his god wasn't simply late. ]
He's not coming.
[ There's a faint lilt to his words, not dissimilar from Badger's accent... although Badger never sounded this lost. ]
I'm unworthy.