♦ pitied by @jesterBells
we are cringe 8ut we are free
\/\/acillation is a topic I am familiar \/\/\/\/it'. This ain't no secret. Th'little ones toss that \/\/\/\/0rd around like gulls fighting 0\/\/er scraps. Th'think it means c0nfusi0n. A \/\/\/\/obbling thumper o' pitch. A fo0l unable to decide \/\/\/\/hether he \/\/\/\/ishes t0 snog 0r cull'em. As th0ugh y'cannae d'both. They kno\/\/\/\/ nothing. A kismesis is certainty. \/\/\/\/hilst a Moirail may be yer r0ck t'lean on, th' Kismesis is th'rocks 'pun th'sh0re. Bashin' yerself against them is a part a'th'game. It is kno\/\/\/\/ing exactly \/\/\/\/ho belongs acr0ss fr0m ye \/\/\/\/hen the \/\/\/\/a\/\/es rise high en0ugh to s\/\/\/\/all0\/\/\/\/ the \/\/\/\/0rld \/\/\/\/h0le. M0st fo0ls think pitch is black because they ha\/\/e 0nly seen it c0ld. Tar in the hull. S00t on a sail0r’s hands. Dead things. But thr0\/\/\/\/ c0al deep en0ugh int0 the furnace and \/\/\/\/atch \/\/\/\/hat happens. The black turns red. The darker the fuel, the h0tter it burns. Heat en0ugh to make ir0n sag an' drag0ns \/\/\/\/eep. Pitch is th'all consumin'. Y'thr0\/\/\/\/ red int'th'\/\/0id an' y'get the \/\/0id. Same as Ash and Pale. Th0ugh th'make their 0\/\/\/\/n lucid shades o' disgust. Fer m', an' any o'er troll \/\/\/\/0rth his salt. Pitch is \/\/\/\/hat y'should b'. Despite this. Yer \/\/\/\/retched little stump o' a pumper may find itself beatin' a different tune \/\/\/\/hilst yer beatin' yer \/\/\/\/ardrums. Th'stare 'cr0ss the flanks. In that m0ment a beautiful distended cha0s, there's a kinship. That is \/\/acillation. N0t s0ftness. Ne\/\/er s0ftness. It is hatred \/\/\/\/0rked so fiercely that something else cra\/\/\/\/ls out from inside it. Ye \/\/\/\/ant them bloodied. Ye \/\/\/\/ant them gl0ri0us. Ye \/\/\/\/ant their hands ar0und yer thr0at because no 0ther bastard ali\/\/e has earned the pri\/\/ilege. I ha\/\/e seen men on \/\/\/\/haling ships curse one another thr0ugh split lips and br0ken teeth, only to drag each 0ther back ab0ard bef0re the sea could claim them. Screaming one m0ment. Laughing the next. Ready to stab one an0ther by sund0\/\/\/\/n. Ready to die for 0ne an0ther bef0re da\/\/\/\/n. That is the thing pe0ple fail t0 grasp. Pitch does not c0ol \/\/\/\/hen it deepens. It feeds. E\/\/ery insult is another l0g thro\/\/\/\/n into the furnace. E\/\/ery humiliation an0ther gust of air against the flame. Ye sharpen 0ne an0ther. Grind one an0ther do\/\/\/\/n. Bec0me experts in e\/\/ery \/\/\/\/eakness, e\/\/ery ugly little habit, e\/\/ery crack in the hull. And after en0ugh years of it, the hatred glo\/\/\/\/s. Though, \/\/\/\/hen yer stoked flames peter out, th'return t'that sickeningly s\/\/\/\/eet pitch yer s0 familiar \/\/\/\/it'. Red beneath the black. But ne'er replacin' it. Coals burnin' s'intensely y'might f00l'em fer hearts.
refre2hiing the feed ii2 a full tiime job at thii2 poiint..