[ hong lu looks. the crumbs scatter down his sweater much in the way of a golden sprinkle of dust. sinclair's hand retreats like a benign tide. hong lu begins brushing off crumbs here and there, humming as he goes along. it's a tuneless song, something move his fingers by. ]
If you say so. Though if you die, can I take a turn? [ hong lu's head tilts. ] And did I get all the crumbs?
[ he did not, in fact, get all the crumbs. in fact, the ratio of crumb-to-sweater seems to be heavily favouring the crumb faction. ]
no subject
If you say so. Though if you die, can I take a turn? [ hong lu's head tilts. ] And did I get all the crumbs?
[ he did not, in fact, get all the crumbs. in fact, the ratio of crumb-to-sweater seems to be heavily favouring the crumb faction. ]