He's tried. Since he arrived back in this period of the village's history. Since his second, or was it his third, encounter with the Milk Tooth babes, when nothing he did chased them away. Yet at the same time nothing they did caused him to become ghost locked, or ghost touched.
He's tried. Since his foray's into the woods with Wrath and Wei Wuxian. Lockwood has tried to open his mind, to listen when he's had the opportunity to learn about how death and spirits work in this world. So very different from his own.
He's tried. But nearly eleven years of defending himself, of developing reflexes that had been honed into him from his sixth year of life, to his seventeenth Lockwood cannot help his reactions.
Though not the touch of a spirit, there is too much going on right now for Lockwood to be comfortable with the touch of a stranger. He wheels away from the contact, hand dropping to the hilt of his rapier and the silver tipped, iron blade is almost halfway clear of its scabbard before he stops himself. The face is familiar, in so much as Lockwood ever allows himself to be familiar with a spirit, but there is living warmth in the lean features.
Once again, the more than slightly overwhelmed youth is forced to remind himself that time has shifted again. At least back in his world, while he might battle personalities who had died decades ago, he wasn't actually back in those decades. ]
You. [ He says, a little breathless as he comes down from the initial jolt of adrenaline. ] I kn ... [ Lockwood begins, just barely catching himself. ] I've seen you around. What is it they call you again?
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He's tried. Since he arrived back in this period of the village's history. Since his second, or was it his third, encounter with the Milk Tooth babes, when nothing he did chased them away. Yet at the same time nothing they did caused him to become ghost locked, or ghost touched.
He's tried. Since his foray's into the woods with Wrath and Wei Wuxian. Lockwood has tried to open his mind, to listen when he's had the opportunity to learn about how death and spirits work in this world. So very different from his own.
He's tried. But nearly eleven years of defending himself, of developing reflexes that had been honed into him from his sixth year of life, to his seventeenth Lockwood cannot help his reactions.
Though not the touch of a spirit, there is too much going on right now for Lockwood to be comfortable with the touch of a stranger. He wheels away from the contact, hand dropping to the hilt of his rapier and the silver tipped, iron blade is almost halfway clear of its scabbard before he stops himself. The face is familiar, in so much as Lockwood ever allows himself to be familiar with a spirit, but there is living warmth in the lean features.
Once again, the more than slightly overwhelmed youth is forced to remind himself that time has shifted again. At least back in his world, while he might battle personalities who had died decades ago, he wasn't actually back in those decades. ]
You. [ He says, a little breathless as he comes down from the initial jolt of adrenaline. ] I kn ... [ Lockwood begins, just barely catching himself. ] I've seen you around. What is it they call you again?