*Cesar glances at his hands, and thinks of the consuming press of lips and scent of his hair, and he finds that he can't be as staunchly laissez faire as he wishes he were. Is he really going to ignore the way he's worrying about the copy, even now? Even if he concentrates on the image of him smothering a paralyzed Lazarus, he can't help but wonder at the back of his mind if the Xanax didn't make him pass out at the top of a staircase. He's not in pain somewhere, needing the help of anyone who can find it in themselves to not want him dead, is he?*
{Warn your friends. Protect yourself first, or you won't be able to protect them.}
*He feels conflicted. It occurs to him that as clear as he thinks his expression is right now, Lazarus might not even be able to tell. Maybe that makes things simpler in the end? He knows it's good advice.*
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{Warn your friends. Protect yourself first, or you won't be able to protect them.}
*He feels conflicted. It occurs to him that as clear as he thinks his expression is right now, Lazarus might not even be able to tell. Maybe that makes things simpler in the end? He knows it's good advice.*