A fog-swallowed day. He's carapaced to resist it, whatever's coming. Full on weather warrior, that one. Don't ask where he got his old armament, the battered brown kind that deflects acid like raindrops. Bullets or hail, makes no never mind. Might've slaughtered for it, might've bartered for it. A fistful of blueberries or viscera; he ain't telling
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Beautiful
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That's beautiful.
Are you on Dreamwidth? I am likely to leave LJ and am trying to keep track of people.
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Also sovay! I'll look for you on Facebook.
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