[He mostly turns his head to look this time, best not piss off the healer or upset the wrappings. Richie considers the damage. Still there, a week later, when most everyone else has shucked their wrappings. He has.
It doesn't feel right. Sitting in this moment, getting bandaged up for stolen valor. Stolen death, stolen pain. Walk a mile in someone else's shoes, huh? How about slot yourself into their skin and take their blows on your muscle and bone? Then sit dead in front of them with hounddog eyes and a sob story and make them tell you it's gonna be okay?
He flinches, bringing his hand to his nose. His eyes, beneath his glasses.]
What a rotten...My god, JQ, Jesus Christ Almighty.
What? I can't eke out a wedge of sympathy for a good guy who got a fate worse than death?
[Even if it was quite literally death. He just has a particular hang up about the method. Eaten alive.
Too close to home. Much too close.]
To be fair, it didn't feel like an afternoon. About a hundred years and a month more like, though the century whizzed by like it was nothing much at all.
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He did. Borisin partake of flesh and blood before battles. It drives their strength to levels they could not accomplish without it.
[ he taps his chest, where there are still bandages. ]
These are the remains.
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It doesn't feel right. Sitting in this moment, getting bandaged up for stolen valor. Stolen death, stolen pain. Walk a mile in someone else's shoes, huh? How about slot yourself into their skin and take their blows on your muscle and bone? Then sit dead in front of them with hounddog eyes and a sob story and make them tell you it's gonna be okay?
He flinches, bringing his hand to his nose. His eyes, beneath his glasses.]
What a rotten...My god, JQ, Jesus Christ Almighty.
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[ ear flick. he's serene, as usual - or maybe numb. there's a lot of numbness, that comes with war. ]
I'm more worried for the group of you. My life is a lot to experience in what is essentially one afternoon.
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[Even if it was quite literally death. He just has a particular hang up about the method. Eaten alive.
Too close to home. Much too close.]
To be fair, it didn't feel like an afternoon. About a hundred years and a month more like, though the century whizzed by like it was nothing much at all.