( it's strange, looking at ephemera now. twitchier. more tense. broken in brand new ways that didn't exist when gates left and picked up the name felix alongside an indecent barrage of other aliases in his travels. felix was the youngest until ephemera was pulled, baby-faced and still painfully green around the edges, but a quick, sharp learner. still quick, maybe twice as sharp now. that hasn't changed.

still an easy read, too. that hasn't changed either. felix glances at him impassively before he turns his attention back to his boots. )

A very long time ago, back in the olden days before you were born, ( he says this all very casually, as if they aren't a mere three years apart in age ) I damned my soul to an eternity in hell in exchange for a solid 40 years of looking fine as fuck. I've got eight more years of pretty left in me before I put a bullet in my brain and end it all.

( truthfully, he has his mother to thank for fantastic genetics. he's never known another woman who could drink as much as her and still look trim and put-together the next morning, just in time for sunday mass. clear skin, great hair, horrific addiction to liquor. thanks, ma. he learned from the best.

he slaps his knees as he finishes, pushing himself to his feet and pivoting toward the table with his knives. )

Are these sharpened?