In the clinic, he lost his mind and found it again.
He was
cleaned up and sent on his way once they'd given him painkillers and some care. He was fine by that; he knew how to get home, but despite everything, he needed to be out. He needed to make sure he had dodged death once again. He hit the streets and walked, taking in the city with dark eyes
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Comments 5
He was a little too busy trying to wrap his brain around the fact that nobody seems to notice such a huge weird thing has happened, so as he passed the newspaper stand he practically wasn't looking where he was going, and conveniently bumped into someone reading a paper.
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Welcome to the 1920s, Kanda Yu. It's pretty openly racist here in Noirland.
Snape straightens his paper, looking at Kanda like he's a bug, nothing but revulsion on his face. A lesser person touched him! Like he was one of them! Foul! Disgusting!
But--
--there's a strange memory, like--
--what he's saying is somehow wrong.
Don't use that word! in his own voice. Chinese? No. Something-- else.
He can't recall, and it only makes him more angry.
"Get on with you. I don't have time for your betters, let alone Chinese street urchins."
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So he actually stops and turns back, his expression rather emotionless. "I'm not Chinese, idiot," he states, not even a sign of accent, and looks almost a little triumphant. You'd think it's supposed to be obvious that he doesn't really have an ethnicity, while it's true that he does in fact look Asian. But it's not like details like this matter. Right now he just wants to argue with this irritating human a little.
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"I don't care what flavor of Oriental you are," the taller man snarls. "Get on with you." He paid for his paper, and made to leave, still trying to figure out why this left him feeling wrong.
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