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cradle me in your crooked heart
This place was full of ghosts. Tsunami could see them, though half the time he was positive it was his head playing tricks on him and laughing while he wallowed in confusion, anxiety, sometimes fear. He had a vivid imagination, really. His mind could split the world in half, scratch a hole in the sky, make the oceans boil like the armageddon was upon them. His mind could do better than that: make him believe that everything was alright. What a fucking joke. Long ago he had given up trying to understand himself, and focused now on trying to better himself -- he was a good person, even if there was a sadistic Russian in his head, taunting and encouraging the monster that reared in its shrieking chains. Surely he was a good person. He had also long ago given up trying to forgive himself for the follies and the intentional sins alike, murder and adultery and the way he couldn't even raise his own children. Too much thought about these things and insanity ensued. But it usually did anyway. At least he had never eaten anyone.
This particular ghost he could hear, rather than see. This voice belonged to a ghost that walked and talked still, that breathed in the air and whose heart had yet to stop beating. Tsunami was alert instantly and he sat up, one hand on the ground to steady himself as he stood. And there she was, in the road nearby: Iskata Sadira, one of the few wolves in the world he considered a friend. Of course, the ghostwatcher had already known through Phasma that she was alive, but seeing her for himself made it more real. He was glad to see her, glad that Fate had allowed their paths to cross tonight. He needed the company. Why had she left Clouded Tears? maybe laruku ate one of her babies, too. Mischa giggled. you know... her filthy rape-spawn. Iskata, the one-eyed wolf said, smiling at the lady. It was a halfhearted smile for reasons that had nothing at all to do with her. Tsunami simply didn't know what to do. He knew what he had to do, but it was a question of gathering up the nerve to do it. It might be the end of him -- or the beginning. God, it's good to see you. Come sit down. Are you okay? He asked because he was empathic enough to understand she didn't look her happiest. He was thoroughly distracted, anxious and plagued with things that would never leave him, but he'd always find time for a friend.
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