[ He is surprised, if that's the name for the odd, brimming-tight feeling in his chest. This is the opposite of before. Hundreds of years, and the Emperor hadn't grown acclimated to the lack of feelings. (Riot me.) What if he couldn't grow acclimated to the presence of it? ]
My metals...
[ He reaches to the bedside table, shifting his weight, and selects a vial, one of the non-combat ones. It gives him a little pewter, so he just goes ahead and flares that to let it run out faster, so it won't poison him. Gently, he burns brass. ]
no subject
My metals...
[ He reaches to the bedside table, shifting his weight, and selects a vial, one of the non-combat ones. It gives him a little pewter, so he just goes ahead and flares that to let it run out faster, so it won't poison him. Gently, he burns brass. ]
Ready?