[I don't know how you're triggered to get to that state. Neither does he, not really, not when he's managed to go so long without fully submerging himself in wanton carnage, always keeping that small cold kernel of rationality locked in place. The things he'd done, that level of decimation-- he's engaged in it many a time, but always with purpose, with focus. At the riots, it had slipped out of that and into something else, something worse, where anyone who crossed his path had become fair game.
(A shadow standing behind him, panting, a sensation almost like words-- hit the switch.)
But he makes no mention of that. Instead, slowly, he shifts until he's sitting cross-legged on the ground, reaches for the basin, the wash-cloth, dips it into the warm water. Despite himself, there's something good in feel of it. Something grounding.
His clothes are stiff and hard with blood, chaffing against skin. Unbidden, a wave of something like disgust comes over him, there and then gone again, licketysplit]
You could have returned me to Company personnel whilst I was still unconscious. There's no reason for you to keep me here at all.
[But his voice is soft and smooth and flat as he takes the dampened cloth, begins to scrub at the dried blood that coats his face.]
no subject
(A shadow standing behind him, panting, a sensation almost like words-- hit the switch.)
But he makes no mention of that. Instead, slowly, he shifts until he's sitting cross-legged on the ground, reaches for the basin, the wash-cloth, dips it into the warm water. Despite himself, there's something good in feel of it. Something grounding.
His clothes are stiff and hard with blood, chaffing against skin. Unbidden, a wave of something like disgust comes over him, there and then gone again, licketysplit]
You could have returned me to Company personnel whilst I was still unconscious. There's no reason for you to keep me here at all.
[But his voice is soft and smooth and flat as he takes the dampened cloth, begins to scrub at the dried blood that coats his face.]