The sentiment doesn't quite draw a chuckle, but it does make him snort. If only they knew who - what - was in their midst, they might watch their words a touch more carefully. Of course, no one knows; how could they? In this place, they couldn't know that the frail, bedheaded creature was anyone OTHER than Leslie Withers...couldn't know that the mind now in control of the young body wasn't the one that belongs there.
Speaking of frail bodies - he's still getting used to this one, and the heat is particularly unkind today. The slow stroll down the street becomes a buckling of knees, a fluttering of eyelids. Pretense is missing from the scenario. The true identity of the man who has stolen the body is lost for the moment, obscured, unknown.
Outside looking in, it's just a pale young man, dangerously close to passing out on his way down the sidewalk.]
(05)
[If there's one thing Ruvik has never experienced before, it's being called a hero. Being liked, for that matter, is peculiar enough...but this? The outpouring of kindness, the enthusiasm for the presence of a man who they have never even met?
It's enough to churn his stomach.
For the time being, though, he has to bite back his disgust. A small throng of people have him surrounded, assaulting him with a flurry of questions. What's his name? Why is his hair like that? What kind of powers does he have?
His smile is little more than the slight upturn at the corners of his lips. His voice is even, but his eyes remain cold.]
...Hey, slow down. I can't answer everything at once.
My name is Leslie. And if you don't mind, I really must be-
[But the crowd won't let him go. He looks uncomfortable - growling a little in the back of his throat in frustration, just barely audible.]
Ruvik | The Evil Within
[Can't be right in the head.
The sentiment doesn't quite draw a chuckle, but it does make him snort. If only they knew who - what - was in their midst, they might watch their words a touch more carefully. Of course, no one knows; how could they? In this place, they couldn't know that the frail, bedheaded creature was anyone OTHER than Leslie Withers...couldn't know that the mind now in control of the young body wasn't the one that belongs there.
Speaking of frail bodies - he's still getting used to this one, and the heat is particularly unkind today. The slow stroll down the street becomes a buckling of knees, a fluttering of eyelids. Pretense is missing from the scenario. The true identity of the man who has stolen the body is lost for the moment, obscured, unknown.
Outside looking in, it's just a pale young man, dangerously close to passing out on his way down the sidewalk.]
(05)
[If there's one thing Ruvik has never experienced before, it's being called a hero. Being liked, for that matter, is peculiar enough...but this? The outpouring of kindness, the enthusiasm for the presence of a man who they have never even met?
It's enough to churn his stomach.
For the time being, though, he has to bite back his disgust. A small throng of people have him surrounded, assaulting him with a flurry of questions. What's his name? Why is his hair like that? What kind of powers does he have?
His smile is little more than the slight upturn at the corners of his lips. His voice is even, but his eyes remain cold.]
...Hey, slow down. I can't answer everything at once.
My name is Leslie. And if you don't mind, I really must be-
[But the crowd won't let him go. He looks uncomfortable - growling a little in the back of his throat in frustration, just barely audible.]