ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE, enough to make his teeth vibrate. The monitors are becoming a blur, his head starts to ache, the tincture is small with a cute impression of a favorite cartoon, what’s the name? Satoru doesn’t remember. It’s methodical, the way his spidery digits pop the different pills, temporary relief that is always followed one day, his stomach && brain will give out, he wasn’t sure which. “I feel as if us having coffee is an oddity or something waiting to happen, @achroanimus” he smiles, it never quite matches the depth of his stormy blue eyes, artificial as it is taxing - just like everything in this utopia landscape of theirs.
The drum of finger pads upon the wooden table, everyone knows of him, prodigal son, didn’t he get involved with a latent criminal? Rumors, they’re not important. His vision becomes skewed, shut, the low thrumming of another headache starting to rear itself as he swallows the bile in his throat. “Or is it tea? Either way, the taste is pretty gross, can’t see you being a person that drinks canned beverages - guess we’re out of luck then”
