Totoka River so many names i devour

The Witchdoctor watches as the other male settles back upon his haunches and the wounded puppy look departs his expression. It fails to dawn on the Witchdoctor that he’s likely going to be receiving plenty of those looks from his own spawn in the coming months but he lacks the experience with children that the gangster had held and took to the grave with him. The observation is what would become the typical response to him being confronted about talking to himself but it manages to surprise him, nevermind that he should have expected it. In his debut over half a year ago Witchdoctor hadn’t been quite so vocal with the spirits inhabiting his mind, but the gangster’s conscious tucked away had tempered them, kept them in check to an extent. With the gangster’s conscious “death” they rushed to fill the empty space that was left in his wake as Witchdoctor took full and permanent control. There is an …intrigue in the other’s stormy grey eyes that makes Witchdoctor’s lips to curl slightly. This wasn’t a study of him.

The Machiavellian holds his silence for a few seconds more before he gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes. It does not appear as if the pallid stranger has any intention of leaving. Even the intrigue is bizarre to Witchdoctor for the only other time he’d been caught speaking to the voices in his head the girl had looked at him like he was a mad-man with a certain level of uncertainty and fear. The stranger emits none of these things. “No, I suppose there isn’t.” Good job, Sherlock. “My mind is quite …busy.” He is a madman. He’s long since embraced this but the Witchdoctor is out for himself, out to protect himself. It makes him dangerous and deadly but it’s also a weakness and he is smart enough to accept and acknowledge it as such.