[It's not a confetti party; it fucking sucks. Later, the logical part of him is going to worry about pneumonia, a very real concern, or any number of illnesses caused by lungs previously full of water, but for now, the sting in his lungs and the taste and how every heave of his chest hurts like a motherfucker keep him grounded in this reality.
Currently, the logical part of him really looks at the guy that saved him, and the face rings with some familiarity, sure, but--it's the vest that seals the deal.
He just got his ass rescued by the god damn Punisher.
Great, great, no, that's wonderful, really. Can he go back to the dying and being dead thing? That might be easier to swallow, gallons and gallons of water, than this fact.
There's no real getting good in this condition, and everything feels kind of weird and lopsided, and he feels...well, hell, he feels waterlogged in every sense of the word. But the water around them starts to change. The hallway starts to change. Something is changing in a way that doesn't feel like it's a good thing.
The water starts to rise, not in the way that it had in the office, but physically the water seems to suck out of the carpets and off the floor tiles like getting sucked up by a wetvac. There's a sensation in the air that's not quite ozone but almost like it, but darker, heavier. The water rains upward, splattering against the ceiling and making rivulets that try to find a way up further still as though gravity got reversed, but only for water. The heaviness feels like it's coming from inside of him. There's a darkness that feels darker than they should be creeping in from the shadows, and it isn't his vision going dim.
Somehow there's the impression of the end of the world, but even bigger and impossible to explain than that.
Every inch of him wants to get up and leave. He struggles, motions into the now empty (of water) office, throat rough and lungs hard pressed to get enough air to make something like words happen. "Meds," he coughs. Would any of it still be good after those boxes inevitably became waterlogged? Surely there are unharmed bottles they can still sell, because of course he'll share a profit with the guy that just brought him back from the brink.
Clint's probably not hauling much of anything, and even ass would be a lot to ask for right now.]
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Currently, the logical part of him really looks at the guy that saved him, and the face rings with some familiarity, sure, but--it's the vest that seals the deal.
He just got his ass rescued by the god damn Punisher.
Great, great, no, that's wonderful, really. Can he go back to the dying and being dead thing? That might be easier to swallow, gallons and gallons of water, than this fact.
There's no real getting good in this condition, and everything feels kind of weird and lopsided, and he feels...well, hell, he feels waterlogged in every sense of the word. But the water around them starts to change. The hallway starts to change. Something is changing in a way that doesn't feel like it's a good thing.
The water starts to rise, not in the way that it had in the office, but physically the water seems to suck out of the carpets and off the floor tiles like getting sucked up by a wetvac. There's a sensation in the air that's not quite ozone but almost like it, but darker, heavier. The water rains upward, splattering against the ceiling and making rivulets that try to find a way up further still as though gravity got reversed, but only for water. The heaviness feels like it's coming from inside of him. There's a darkness that feels darker than they should be creeping in from the shadows, and it isn't his vision going dim.
Somehow there's the impression of the end of the world, but even bigger and impossible to explain than that.
Every inch of him wants to get up and leave. He struggles, motions into the now empty (of water) office, throat rough and lungs hard pressed to get enough air to make something like words happen. "Meds," he coughs. Would any of it still be good after those boxes inevitably became waterlogged? Surely there are unharmed bottles they can still sell, because of course he'll share a profit with the guy that just brought him back from the brink.
Clint's probably not hauling much of anything, and even ass would be a lot to ask for right now.]