and all I feel is friction, i dont want it, i hate this addiction
Harvestman is back in the darker corners of the Nexus, unlit cigarette in hand and slouched so much into a couch he's practically a part of it. His clothes no longer look like he stole them from Goodwill's reject pile, and somebody's been making him take regular showers. Thank God.
His eyes are half-closed, but he's watching people through his lashes. "People got needs," he drawls, accent very much Southern. "And people got wants. What do you need, and what do you want? What's the difference between the two?"
His eyes are half-closed, but he's watching people through his lashes. "People got needs," he drawls, accent very much Southern. "And people got wants. What do you need, and what do you want? What's the difference between the two?"