LIGHT THAT FIRE / O. RETURN? SICK?

[size=9pt]It's funny that when Moon sees Lazarus again, its while he's staring into the depths of Starpool looking for answers, just as he'd found the cane corso, weeks ago. Back then, he'd been cynical -- the only thing you'll find in the glistening surface is your own reflection -- but he gets it now. There's something about the place. And maybe it's the movies that taught him this, or maybe it's just universally known that going somewhere dramatic, poetic, like this makes you feel that bit less reckless, but he knows, now; this is where you go when you're feeling a little lost.


And Lazarus looks a little lost. Actually, he looks a little fucked. "Lazarus?" Moon calls, a frown sitting steady on his scarred face. He's not exactly tentative in his approach -- Moon never is -- but he stops a foot or two away, because he knows the canine enough to understand all he'll get is jaws wrapped around his neck if he goes any further. "You look like fucking shit." says the medic boy, already reaching for the ugly bag he's gotten used to carrying around with him. He lays it on the ground, spills out all its contents and roots through them in hopes of finding something he can offer. "I'm not gonna' touch you, okay, but I've got some stuff on me if you want it." He grabs for borage leaves and some poppy seeds, merely a guess, and pauses to wait for a response. He's not entirely sure he'll get one. He tries, anyway. "What's going on?"

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