[ Thirty years is pretty specific. Whatever's going on behind those eyes, John can't guess; it doesn't matter, really, beyond being an invention of the Pthumerians. His vision is still blotted black with Vileblood exposure, but whatever, it's not like he's making much use of his senses right now. ]
Sounds right. [ This is funny because it does not, in fact, sound right. He still says it in a very reasonable tone of voice, shuffling gingerly upright so that tree bark digs into his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. This only crowds them closer together, Terry crouched over his lap and dripping Vileblood down his shirtfront.
John rubs at his wrists like he could snap the man out of this by warming him up, brow furrowed in open bafflement. Fucked up to say it, but: he'll take this over another heart-to-heart hike with somebody he's probably murdered. There's a relief to meeting a weird new crisis. ]
no subject
Sounds right. [ This is funny because it does not, in fact, sound right. He still says it in a very reasonable tone of voice, shuffling gingerly upright so that tree bark digs into his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. This only crowds them closer together, Terry crouched over his lap and dripping Vileblood down his shirtfront.
John rubs at his wrists like he could snap the man out of this by warming him up, brow furrowed in open bafflement. Fucked up to say it, but: he'll take this over another heart-to-heart hike with somebody he's probably murdered. There's a relief to meeting a weird new crisis. ]
I'm here now, aren't I? We'll sort it out.