( fortunately, he knows when to relent. even if it’s, for the most part, light-hearted and in jest. he breathes out sigh—more ragged than normal, yes, but still warm and worn from tested affection. )
Right, right. Of course.
( what’s any relationship without its careful arrangement of arbitrated compromises? speaking of—john is bull-headed enough to persevere on this second test of his physical state, but he doesn’t make any move or sound of criticism as martin shifts his position onto the cot with him, steady and warm and solid with support that… well, Christ. thinking along the lines of what he “deserves” gets into a thorny place entirely too quickly. he instead resolves just not to take him for granted, as he knows he has in the past.
dryly: ) After six months in a hospital bed, I think I understand it better than most.
( even if it had been a personal, moral conundrum he had been grappling with over that time, rather than the battle of a body slowly convalescing from sickness or harm. it was that experience, and the embedded, shared experiences of several other somewhat-related statements, that make him eager to not be here any longer than he has to. the undeniable allure of the boundless unknown is also a sizable, heavy incentive. the itch of curiosity is as deep and pervasive as any physical hunger.
he sniffs, dismissive. ) It’s hardly the first time I’ve been stabbed.( michael, melanie… would one count the Boneturner reaching into his chest and pulling out two ribs as being “stabbed?” martin joins an upsettingly long list. and, really, getting stabbed is rather old hat when one has, say, had a building fall on them, or had their hand scorched by a person made of molten wax, or who spent three whole days within the crushing heart of Choke itself. ) You just had better aim than most.
( he does lean back against martin, though, head coming to rest against him. ) Mm. Even after we’ve gotten so good at it?
( pros: no longer walking through a patchwork of literal hellscapes full of tortured souls. cons: actually feeling the effects of exhaustion, hunger, thirst, elements, and the like would probably make it far too much of a pain. martin’s right, of course; he’s just being a smart-ass.
all of that acerbic humor leaks out of him, though, as he lapses into a brief, pensive silence. when he speaks again, his tone is more sober. ) It does already feel better. ( his hand moves closer to the bandages across his chest. ) It—I mean, it still hurts, but, I…
( he seems to struggle to find the right words, beset with a sinking feeling in his stomach. perhaps he had been too hasty to say that it was all gone? it’s so hard to tell at this point—with how immense his awareness had been as the pupil of the Eye, even briefly, he feels so dull, dim, and minuscule in comparison. is this how it would feel to be human after everything he’s gone through? or… was it ridiculous to even think that in the first place? after all, how many people are cracking jokes after getting lethally stabbed? )
no subject
Right, right. Of course.
( what’s any relationship without its careful arrangement of arbitrated compromises? speaking of—john is bull-headed enough to persevere on this second test of his physical state, but he doesn’t make any move or sound of criticism as martin shifts his position onto the cot with him, steady and warm and solid with support that… well, Christ. thinking along the lines of what he “deserves” gets into a thorny place entirely too quickly. he instead resolves just not to take him for granted, as he knows he has in the past.
dryly: ) After six months in a hospital bed, I think I understand it better than most.
( even if it had been a personal, moral conundrum he had been grappling with over that time, rather than the battle of a body slowly convalescing from sickness or harm. it was that experience, and the embedded, shared experiences of several other somewhat-related statements, that make him eager to not be here any longer than he has to. the undeniable allure of the boundless unknown is also a sizable, heavy incentive. the itch of curiosity is as deep and pervasive as any physical hunger.
he sniffs, dismissive. ) It’s hardly the first time I’ve been stabbed. ( michael, melanie… would one count the Boneturner reaching into his chest and pulling out two ribs as being “stabbed?” martin joins an upsettingly long list. and, really, getting stabbed is rather old hat when one has, say, had a building fall on them, or had their hand scorched by a person made of molten wax, or who spent three whole days within the crushing heart of Choke itself. ) You just had better aim than most.
( he does lean back against martin, though, head coming to rest against him. ) Mm. Even after we’ve gotten so good at it?
( pros: no longer walking through a patchwork of literal hellscapes full of tortured souls. cons: actually feeling the effects of exhaustion, hunger, thirst, elements, and the like would probably make it far too much of a pain. martin’s right, of course; he’s just being a smart-ass.
all of that acerbic humor leaks out of him, though, as he lapses into a brief, pensive silence. when he speaks again, his tone is more sober. ) It does already feel better. ( his hand moves closer to the bandages across his chest. ) It—I mean, it still hurts, but, I…
( he seems to struggle to find the right words, beset with a sinking feeling in his stomach. perhaps he had been too hasty to say that it was all gone? it’s so hard to tell at this point—with how immense his awareness had been as the pupil of the Eye, even briefly, he feels so dull, dim, and minuscule in comparison. is this how it would feel to be human after everything he’s gone through? or… was it ridiculous to even think that in the first place? after all, how many people are cracking jokes after getting lethally stabbed? )