There aren't many avatars on Marrow Isle, and certainly not ones that Jon hasn't come to expect. When Daisy stops by, the looming presence of the ties of Hunt are immediately palpable; when Martin enters a room, a breeze of Lonely follows him. There have been glimmers of other things in people who have come and gone, familiarity found among those who would flirt with inhumanity but never lose themselves to it entirely.
But never, save for objects kept carefully under lock-and-key, has there been Flesh.
It's so palpable that it almost leaves Jon stunned, floundering for a moment, before he comes to his senses again. This version of himself had not yet had his encounter that would leave him forever marked; he doesn't know just how far the Flesh's reach can go.
He does not return the smile, but he's not unpleasant; this island is made up of all kinds, and he's not exactly in a place to judge, considering his history.
"Ah--- good morning," he manages with only a brief stumble, setting aside the freshly-washed pitchers he'd been returning to their place on the counter behind them. He tries not to look too deeply. He fails. What a strange, immaculate patchwork she is. Every seam fits together just so.
He tears his attention away before he can look any deeper. There's work to be done, after all. "Of course. Would you like that hot or cold?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2025-01-03 02:18 am (UTC)But never, save for objects kept carefully under lock-and-key, has there been Flesh.
It's so palpable that it almost leaves Jon stunned, floundering for a moment, before he comes to his senses again. This version of himself had not yet had his encounter that would leave him forever marked; he doesn't know just how far the Flesh's reach can go.
He does not return the smile, but he's not unpleasant; this island is made up of all kinds, and he's not exactly in a place to judge, considering his history.
"Ah--- good morning," he manages with only a brief stumble, setting aside the freshly-washed pitchers he'd been returning to their place on the counter behind them. He tries not to look too deeply. He fails. What a strange, immaculate patchwork she is. Every seam fits together just so.
He tears his attention away before he can look any deeper. There's work to be done, after all. "Of course. Would you like that hot or cold?"