[ a plume of smoke materializes, edged with wisps of silver as it whirls about them. cloud, very pathetically, lets out a dry cough as he acclimates-- he's a baby smoker, please let him live...

but eventually, the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. he's quiet, back impressing onto the fabric of the loveseat. roche is right there, next to him. right. everything reeks so potently of strawberry right now. ]

...Not the same as my Buster Sword. [ his eyes flicker down. ] It--

It was special.

[ he sounds like such a kid right now. if it weren't for the sweet haze enveloping him right now, he'd shrink right into himself. ]

...Fighting for your life and fighting for fun are two different things. I guess-- it's the same, for some people...

[ a beat. ]

I'm...

I'm kind of into a good fight. The ones that really get your blood pumping... the ones where you have no idea if you'll make it out of there in one piece. Yeah, those ones...

[ a moment passes -- and he jolts up, as if suddenly cognizant of what he said.

oh, fuck. this was one of those flavors. ]

...You have got to be kidding me.