Lips like Morphine

Sitri was no angel, and he wasn't the brightest, which was in part why he was so very quiet. However, he would have answered her questions had she asked him. Would have told her how he got every single scar. The notches in his ears and tail base, the scrapes across his sides, the marring on his face all of it, he would let her know it all he did not shy form that type of conversation finding nothing wrong with the scars he carried as a man.

Sitri had come to the conclusion long ago that death was just another adventure, and he'd go on it someday. However, there was no use worrying about it, you'd go on it when you were ready and the fates took you for their own.

Sitri saw the girl falter and wobble with her words, trying to find the right thing to say he suupposed. He tilted his head and shook it. no Sitri does not think she is scared, does not think she can be....the disease it eats her, takes her away from reality. She does not even realize she's dying most likely too far gone in the head to care. he shrugged then hefty shoulders the muscles along his back shifted as he did so.