[ every week, it just gets a little worse. there are moments in these deep, awful pits of despair that he thinks about sazantos and his frustration, and knowing that these things were not caused by cruel intentions, but by the actions of this awful cult, tempers his own sense of right and wrong, hope and darkness, but it sure as hell doesn't make things any easier.
rondo hasn't moved. he's just sitting by the gravestone, still, curled up in a ball. arms around his knees, head down. as alfyn approaches and hugs him, he doesn't even react, at first - he can feel rondo is trembling, shaking like a leaf as his hands fall away from himself, and... after a long, long moment, he reaches up both hands and curls them tight in the back of his shirt.
there's a hiccup, and a noise that might be a sob. ]
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rondo hasn't moved. he's just sitting by the gravestone, still, curled up in a ball. arms around his knees, head down. as alfyn approaches and hugs him, he doesn't even react, at first - he can feel rondo is trembling, shaking like a leaf as his hands fall away from himself, and... after a long, long moment, he reaches up both hands and curls them tight in the back of his shirt.
there's a hiccup, and a noise that might be a sob. ]