(no subject)

[synanthrope]

These days come around and all that happens is that everything gets loud. But there are so many interesting people.

You may come into the Garage as long as you don't touch. Sticky fingers make enormous messes.


[ooc: do what you will!]

Comments

[synanthrope]

[The fact that he didn't scream is curious, but far from disappointing.]

Should I wait for you to have me killed now?

[The tone isn't mocking, even though the words might suggest it.]

[creais]

[He very awkwardly gets his feet back under him, a stilted set of movements, grimacing whenever his arms move with the shift of his body, but unable to tense them to keep them still, either.]

No, now you step aside. Allow me to return to Facon with your... message. Start this war you appear to be set on. [Though she sounds as if she's never done this before. Amateur, he doubted she and whatever forces she had would stand long against Facon's operations.] You can do your waiting once I've left.

[synanthrope]

[He'd be surprised]

You're not leaving.

[creais]

[He sways on his feet slightly, pale with pain, fighting the urge to curl back in on himself and his arms. It won't make them stop hurting.]

Then what, exactly, was the point of all this?

[synanthrope]

It's a favor. To the bird.

[creais]

[He's shocked into silence for a moment - quite an achievement - wondering if the pain has gone to his head, messed with his hearing.]

The bird? [Well, maybe he shouldn't be so surprised, considering he's stood in a room full of carefully preserved body parts.] You're insane.