[ Sharkface drops his hands, shifting uneasily. The cold is beginning to work its way into his joints again, slowing him down. Settling in alongside all the pins and metal plates that are holding him together. Medics always said he was lucky, one of maybe five survivors who'd walked out of that building. A direct missile strike, and one hundred and ten stories of metal and glass cashing down on his head. Maybe five survivors. Barrows had been one of the others. Lost his arm, cleaved off at the shoulder, but he'd survived and armored back up in time to die with the others. That had been a kindness, Sharkface knows now. To die fighting. Barrows never had to see the aftermath. Never saw what it did to Hunter, or to him.
Breathe, little brother.
He twitches. Lays his hands flat at his side and holds perfectly still. Standing at attention, just like he'd been taught. He didn't want to know that about Godric. He doesn't want to understand these people here, or know what's hurt them. All he needs to do is endure this place, wait it out and drag himself back home to finish what he started.
It's simple, or at least it ought to be. But he keeps getting caught on things. On these people. And now Godric's staring at him, unblinking and eerily still, and Sharkface wants to hit him or maybe just bolt, get out of this situation.
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[ Sharkface drops his hands, shifting uneasily. The cold is beginning to work its way into his joints again, slowing him down. Settling in alongside all the pins and metal plates that are holding him together. Medics always said he was lucky, one of maybe five survivors who'd walked out of that building. A direct missile strike, and one hundred and ten stories of metal and glass cashing down on his head. Maybe five survivors. Barrows had been one of the others. Lost his arm, cleaved off at the shoulder, but he'd survived and armored back up in time to die with the others. That had been a kindness, Sharkface knows now. To die fighting. Barrows never had to see the aftermath. Never saw what it did to Hunter, or to him.
Breathe, little brother.
He twitches. Lays his hands flat at his side and holds perfectly still. Standing at attention, just like he'd been taught. He didn't want to know that about Godric. He doesn't want to understand these people here, or know what's hurt them. All he needs to do is endure this place, wait it out and drag himself back home to finish what he started.
It's simple, or at least it ought to be. But he keeps getting caught on things. On these people. And now Godric's staring at him, unblinking and eerily still, and Sharkface wants to hit him or maybe just bolt, get out of this situation.
He doesn't. He holds. ]
The fuck am I supposed to do what that?