bakerstreet | Find my home with you

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[meme] shipping

Find my home with you

The ＴＯＯＫＹＯＵＩＮ Shipping Meme

They were on your front door, in your yard, or on the street, confused and clearly in no position to fend for themselves; in a worst case scenario, they were bruised and battered, possibly close to death. Bleeding heart or not, you can't just be so cruel as to let them suffer. They need a place to stay, and you'll open your home to them...long enough to get back on their feet, anyway.

Speaking of feet, the shoe could be on the other one. You're worse for the wear - in a new place, possibly injured, certainly not in the best state of mind. You could not even remember how you got here or who you are to get here, for that matter. You may not want to remember. Whether willing or not so willing, you're in no position to turn down help, especially if said helper won't take no for an answer. No matter how dedicated you are to looking after yourself, there's only so much you can do in your position.

The two of you are staying together, at any rate. Only for a while, the plan is. But after said while, even though strength and confidence is returning to the injured, there's something a little different between you two. It could be the close quarters, the kindness shown, or a number of things, but quietly, softly, feelings have grown. Could more confusion and hurt spring from this? What about when it's time to go? Can the temporary resident leave as easily as they intended? You're so close now, perhaps a little while longer can't do any harm...

...until whatever it was that put them in such a perilous position in the first place comes back, and there could be "justice" for anyone who's dared to help.

ＲＵＬＥＳ

Comment with your character and preferences. Say if you'd rather play the taken in or the person taking them in.
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ＰＲＯＭＰＴＳ

ғɪɴᴅɪɴɢ — Who's that? They're no ordinary passersby! Were they in an accident? Are they foreign? ...should you approach them?

ʀᴀɪɴ, ʀᴀɪɴ, ɢᴏ ᴀᴡᴀʏ — The elements make this night no time to sleep out of doors.

ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ — Cuts, broken bones, injuries all of sorts...you have to stitch them back up, then make sure they don't get any

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — It's all you can do to show gratitude to the person who took you in. Fix them a meal, care for their house, whatever you can do once you're able.

ʙᴀᴅ ɢᴜᴇsᴛ — FUCK THIS PERSON AND FUCK THEIR COUCH. You didn't ask to be brought here. Let them clean up after you, you don't even care.

ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ? — How you got into this situation is a mystery. Even more of a mystery is your identity, and why the person you were would be so displaced.

sᴇʟғʟᴇssɴᴇss —

ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ — If you've been injured badly enough or can't remember all too well, you might have to relearn a good deal. Luckily, you have a helping hand.

sᴄᴀʀs — Scars from the encounter that lead you here or scars from prior, you don't want them to see either. You still have your secrets to keep.

sᴛᴜʙʙᴏʀɴ — Ugh, your house guest is so stubborn! They always get up when they should be resting, have the worst habits, and completely disrespect your home! You'll get to them, one way or another. Or you'll throw them out. You don't want to, but you will.

ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛ — Bad memories or nightmares wreck you; your host and nurse comes to your side unexpectedly.

ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄʟᴀsʜ — The person who's taken you in is from a different culture or lifestyle than you, and adapting is harder than you thought.

ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ — Think learning about a new culture is hard? Try being a different species. Can you keep your little eccentricities at bay for the good of your station?

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ — Now that your emotions towards your caretaker/host/jailer are softening, you're finding yourself unusually jealous of those in their life who were close to them before.

ɴᴇᴡ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs — You never thought you'd have fun after all that's happened, yet such simple gestures as a picnic or a movie make all the difference.

ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ — You love them, this person who's taken you in or this person you've found. It's not a pity or a thankfulness, it's love, and you know that now. What you choose to do with this information is

ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ — Suddenly, the person who's been so nice to you finds out that the two of you have a history. You killed their loved ones or caused something terrible. How can they forgive you?

ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ — So much has been done for you. The least you can do in return for the one who helped you at your lowest is make sure they never have such a low point.

ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢ — Anyone in the way of getting to you will be destroyed, and that includes the person you're staying with.

ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ — You've been given a home, maybe which you've never had before. You don't want to leave.

ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ — Not only are you living with them, but you're starting a proper life with them.

ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟ — All secrets are laid out on the table. You've decided to tell about your past and what lead you here.

ʀᴇᴠᴜʟsɪᴏɴ — What you've done and who you are is so heinous, they want nothing more to do. You're to leave their home and leave them alone.

ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ — It doesn't matter what they've done. You've opened your home and your heart to them, and nothing's changed.

ᴘᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ — All things must come to an end. No matter what you feel for each other, it's time to leave. Hopefully, you'll see each other again.

ʜᴀᴘᴘɪʟʏ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ — Come what may, you've decided to stay at your new home with the person you love. Now, it's safe enough to do so.

ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ

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[ It occurs to him, while he bites back a groan as Vrenille sets to work cleaning him up, that he's never actually divulged what he is. He normally doesn't share it with humans or others that he doesn't know very well, but he sees little sense in lying right now, not when Vrenille is staring at a bloody mess of evidence. ]

Silver. Let's just call it an allergy among my kind. [ A deadly one that he hadn't planned on running into today. He normally blends so seamlessly into human life that hunters are rarely an issue. He grimaces, eyes pressing shut for a brief moment before he manages to wrangle the pain down to a tolerable level. He hadn't gone through his gruesome form of training just to be undone by one gunshot wound.

Still, his breathing is shaky at best, sweat dampening his temples and pooling in the hollow of his throat. He forces out something that's supposed to be closer to a laugh. ] Your services cover a broader range than I thought. I regret to inform you I've blown all my cash on alcohol, as I tend to do. [ And this injury will put him out of commission for several days. He's loathe to borrow anything from The Factory and dig himself deeper into debt, but he might be forced to do just that. ]

Edited 2017-03-28 02:11 (UTC)

Your kind? [Vrenille gives him a sidelong glance while he works. He's simply figured Jericho for human. He certainly looks human. Not that being human is such a high priority topic for Vrenille these days--he's come a long way from the relative xenophobia and nationalism of his hometown.

Wound cleaned, he pauses to have a good look at the condition of the skin, the extent of angrily radiating purple. Then flashes Jericho a smile--the sort that's meant to keep things light, to disguise the fact that what Vrenille really thinks it the wound looks bad; the effect that silver has on whatever Jericho is is apparently something quite severe.] Don't worry about it. This one's on the house.

[He uncorks another vial. There's a golden liquid in this one that looks like thin honey but with a smell that's closer to paint thinner.] It'll take some of the pain away, help you heal faster. [Which he thinks Jericho will want, because he's got another vial of the first elixir in his hand, and what he's planning to do with it next is probably going to hurt like hell.]

[ The vial from before had a decidedly unpleasant taste. This one, however, when brought close to his nose, nearly makes him gag. ] You're trying to poison me. [ He's intentionally bypassed the earlier question, steeling himself before knocking back the liquid. For all of his efforts, he somehow feels more like passing out than before.

He pushes his hair from his eyes. He can see through Vrenille's smile, even though a part of him can appreciate it. ] I know it looks bad. I'm not dying. Just miserable. [ And he'd be worse off still if he hadn't extracted the silver when he did. Which brings him back to Vrenille's query. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt that isn't in bloody tatters littering the floor. ]

I'm a werewolf. Half. Half wolf, half human. Which means I get all the downsides and none of the perks. [ A joke, a poor one. There are no perks, at least not in his eyes. He would gladly trade away all of his strengths to just feel normal. ] It doesn't happen very often, but people still hunt us. And this happens even less, but sometimes I get stupid enough to get caught.

It works, I promise. Just tastes awful going down. [Is that like some kind of requirement of medicine? Vrenille honestly doesn't know, but he knows that Fraendryll swears by this stuff out on the battlefield.

He pauses for a moment when Jericho says werewolf, though not because he's scared or put off. Actually, he seems mostly intent on treating it as not too big a deal--certainly nothing for him to get all weird about.] You can change into a wolf? I thought only norn could do that.

[And then without any further preamble--] Sorry, this is gonna hurt. [He pours the contents of the vial he's holding over the open wound. It's the alcohol in it that will burn the worst--he's sympathetic about that. But the elixir's curative components are more effective than anything else he knows against bleeding, burns, frostbite, and yes, poison. Whatever the silver is doing to Jericho's system, this stuff will combat it right at its the source.

And it should be only a few moments of pain...hopefully.]

Yeah. I've found there are more cons than pros. [ After all these years, the pain is still worse each time, bones breaking and skin splitting to the point that he wonders how he comes out alive. He loathes the pull of the full moon, his body feeling the effects hours before the actual shift and then swimming in and out of consciousness while bloodlust completely overtakes him.

Before he can elaborate further, fire erupts in his shoulder, something between a growl and a moan escaping his clenched teeth. A shudder runs through him, and when the burning begins to subside, he realizes he has a death grip on Vrenille's thigh. He might have a bruise come tomorrow. ]

Sorry. [ His voice sounds raspy, and he loosens his fingers but keeps his hand against his leg to keep from keeling over. He slowly relaxes his taut muscles, panting softly. ] If I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to finish the job.

[Oh yeah, that's gonna leave a mark. Vrenille mouths a silent, but still quite sharply-felt Ow when Jericho's fingers dig against his thigh, but all things in perspective, he's definitely the one who's hurting less here so he really can't complain. When the grip eases, he breathes a dry laugh.] Yeah, I probably deserved that.

But look, 's done now. [And he's taking a dressing of gauze and cotton bandages to warp Jericho's shoulder, careful, steady, not too tight.] If it's not nine times better in the morning, you have my complete permission to give me a dead arm as payback. [He smiles that caramel-warm smile of his. Of course he doesn't want a punch in the arm; just like all along, he's trying to be reassuring. But it's not merely a mercenary sort of assurance, like something he's only doing pragmatically for the quid pro quo.

All his quips about "service" and "on the house" notwithstanding, he's really doing this because he cares that Jericho is in pain, because he wants to see him whole, because he would want someone to do the same for him if the shoe was on the other foot...and also, he can't finally deny, because of that same unnameable something that made him pick Jericho out of a whole bar full of men as the one he was going to wager everything--maybe his whole future--on.

He places his hand on top of Jericho's for a moment.] I'm gonna get you upstairs to bed, ok? Just give me a second to get some of this cleaned up.

Nine times is a hefty promise. [ But he's hoping his own healing with kick-start again during the night, a combination of the vile concoctions and giving his body the rest it craves. He catches the smile before his eyes flutter shut, closing against his sudden vertigo, and he rests his forehead lightly against Vrenille's shoulder. ] I didn't even get a tour of the place yet.

[ Several long moments pass before he even feels capable of attempting to pull himself together, mind swimming and voice paper-thin. ] I'll help you clean this up.

[Vrenille doesn't know how fast Jericho's body can heal, of course, but he knows that there's some magic in those elixirs. They're as much alchemy as they are distillation. (Hey, he's not going to wager a punch in the arm unless he's feeling pretty secure.) Time will tell though. For now he's catching Jericho in his arms, taking his weight.] Ha! Yeah, well the grand tour will have to wait. Better in the daylight anyway.

[He rests a hand on the back of Jericho's neck. He does have a way to get him upstairs if he passes out here, should it come to it. He'd just do it anyway, but he doesn't want to freak the guy out with a sudden display of magic. He's never even told him that it's the kind of thing he does.

When it comes to the cleaning suggestion, though,] Nuh-uh, no way.

[He leans Jericho gently back against the wall, calling Calamus back over. The dog, which has been watching in patient vigil, lays its chin on Jericho's knee.] You are staying right here. [He helps the man's hand find leafy dog head, then darts away to clean the worst of the mess--soiled gauze thrown in the bin, jacket hung on a hook in the entry, worst of the blood wiped up with a rag. The rest can wait till morning. He closes up the workshop before returning to Jericho's side.]

Hey, you still with me?

[ The dizziness slowly subsides, the creeping darkness shrinking from his vision. He can feel the dog beneath the palm of his hand, and he moves his fingers gently as he absently tracks Vrenille's movements. His shoulder doesn't necessarily feel better, but he does feel less like he's toeing the brink of death. A safe, warm place to stay isn't something he takes lightly, either. He could've found a safe house without too much trouble, but in his condition he'd likely have ended up passing out without treating his wounds.

He gives a slight nod that's barely more of a lifting of his chin to meet Vrenille's eyes. ] Yeah. I'll be all right. Whose dog is this? [ Because it's easy enough to surmise that he isn't the owner. And while there's a certain level of trust here, partly out of necessity and partly because of their previous encounter, Jericho is still cautious by nature. And if someone else lives here, he would like to know.

He winces as he makes a move to stand. ] I'm in your debt for this.

His name's Shievr. [Vrenille maneuvers himself under Jericho's good arm, helping him to his feet once more.] He's got a way with animals.

[And Jericho would inevitably meet him in the morning. Him and others. There's more than just one someone else who lives in the house, and though everyone is already in bed at the moment, the size of the place as they move through it might begin to give a hint.

With steady, careful steps and Calamus padding behind them, Vrenille leads them upstairs. One whole floor of the house seems to be devoted to the kitchen and larder, and there's an open sitting room on the second floor landing, as well as at least one more floor still above them. Vrenille's room is at the back of the house on the second floor, around a corner down a long hallway. It's not big, but there's a huge window beside the bed that faces out towards the harbor, and there's easy room to move around the brass bed frame.

He lights a kerosene lamp as they enter and eases Jericho down on the bed. It's a tidy calico and patchwork sort of space of warm colors and soft smells with furniture that looks a bit rustic, a bit worn, definitely mismatched, but sturdy and well made--a weathered armoire, a large wooden chest, a dresser that might once have been painted blue. It doesn't look much like the sort of room one would probably expect to be used for sex work. It's too homey, too lived in.

Vrenille ushers Calamus out as he closes the door, and the dog gives a small whine of protest as he goes. Fair odds he'll probably still be lying outside the door when the sun rises.] You know I promised you a drink which I still have to deliver on. I won't be offended if you'd rather just pass out in my bed though.

[ The stairs are brutal to ascend, but he manages to make it without incident, silently taking count of how many floors and rooms they pass, likely all occupied with various characters. He's used to small rooms, even if he loathes enclosed spaces, but the large window helps. As long as he can see the sky, he's more or less content.

He scarcely spares a thought to what might've taken place in this room, settling on the bed and trying to find a position that puts the least amount of pressure on his shoulder while still managing to sit up. The promise of a drink immediately catches his attention. ] I wouldn't turn one down if you offered. Consider it a sleeping aid. [ He could certainly use one to take the edge off. He turns his eyes toward the window, absently counting the stars. ] How long have you been here?

[There's a lighthouse at the far end of the harbor, and even though the window doesn't face towards it, the reflection from its beacon still glints in a rhythmic arc across the water.

Vrenille opens a cabinet and takes out a bottle and two glasses, pouring two fingers' measure of dark amber into each.] Blood Whiskey--Special Reserve, it's the good stuff. [He takes a seat next to Jericho on the bed, passing him a glass. It's closer to bourbon than to brandy, but he figures it'll do.

He takes a sip of his before answering.] It's getting close to two years now, I guess. I mean except for the time we were all in the jungle and the parts when I've been away--like that time I got myself lost and stranded, when I met you.

[ The drink warms and settles the tension beneath his skin, distracting from the pain. He almost feels like he can relax now, perhaps even sleep when it usually doesn't come so easily. There's something homey about Vrenille's room, something that makes him feel like can let his defenses down -- whatever remains of them.

The corner of his mouth quirks into something resembling a smile. ] Would you have picked me up if I was a stranger to you? [ They're really not too far beyond strangers. There was only one night, and Jericho doesn't make it easy to get to know him even with time. ]

[Vrenille snorts a laugh.] No.

I mean, I wouldn't have just left you there, but brought you back here? [He shakes his head. They may be all but strangers, but there's a lot to that all but. Vrenille's not sure he can explain. Maybe it's about the way Jericho reveals so little. Regardless, there aren't a lot of clients he'd have brought back here either, even some of the ones he's been seeing every week for months. But anyway, there are fewer of those now--fewer clients all around.] Does it seem strange?

Maybe a little. But all that means is that you might be more trusting than I am. [ But for all of his nonchalance, he doubts it would sit well on his conscience to leave someone injured to fend for themselves. He downs half of his drink before speaking again. ] You got lucky. This could've been a lot more dangerous for you. [ The thought of how this could've turned out had Vrenille found him a little earlier isn't a thought he wants to dwell on. ] I trust you have exceptional skills in self preservation, however.

Yeah and I keep telling you I'm not as defenseless as I look. [Who would guess it though? He still doesn't look like much for fighting and he doesn't exactly advertise his magical aptitude. Even saying this aloud sounds as much like playful teasing as like truth.

He takes a sip of his drink and then sets it on the nightstand to start pulling off his boots.] Those hunters you talked about--why are they after you?

You look like you wouldn't hurt a kitten. [ Then again, why would anyone hurt a kitten? ] I was working a job and shifted in front of some people I shouldn't have. It was stupid. Careless. [ It's rare that he ever shifts fully except on the full moon, the toll it takes on his body being too great. What was supposed to be simple had turned into a near-death experience, and he doubts his boss will care for anything except that he let his mark go. He drains the rest of his glass. ] I can blame no one but myself. It was a split-second decision that nearly cost me my life.

But you helped. And I'm still in your debt.

[Well they're certainly on the same page with this point.] A kitten, no I'd rather not. A charr on the other hand... Okay honestly, I'd probably run away from a charr. But if it backed me into a corner and was about to gut me, I could fight my way out is what I'm saying.

[His smile hangs in the pause as he gives Jericho a careful look, putting the pieces of his explanation together.] There isn't too much in the way of magic where you come from. I guess that makes what you can do seem like some kind of threat, huh?

It's not like that here. Here everything's soaked in magic. So you're safe. [He brushes a stray lock of hair back from Jericho's cheek and takes his empty glass.] And enough of this debt crap, man. You don't owe me. If anything, I owed you.

Another?

I can only assume a charr has very big claws.

[ He scoffs lightly even though there's really nothing funny about this. ] There's plenty. We're just seen as second-class citizens. I don't have it as bad as some others. For the most part it's easy for me to pass as human, and even if I don't, I'm employed with an organization that works on making us seem less threatening to humans and therefore more accepted. [ It's the cover story for The Factory, and probably the biggest pile of bullshit he's told Vrenille so far. Still, the laws that keep them from being hunted are shoddy at best and rarely enforced, but should he kill a human, he'd likely pay with his life.

He hasn't seen an abundance of magic, but the atmosphere here feels different from what he's used to. ] Even you? [ A mild query. He turns his face toward Vrenille's touch, gaze curious and open, and nods when he asks about a refill. ] I don't know if buying you a meal is on par with what you did for me, but if you insist.

Big claws, big teeth, big horns. [It's a cursory explanation--he doesn't really want to talk about charr now. The topic is messy and complicated, and even if Vrenille is more willing to deal with members of the species than he once was, there's no escaping that he grew up in a city they were holding under siege.

He's not sure what to make of the organization that Jericho's speaking of or how best to put it in a context he can relate to. Maybe there isn't one. Maybe he really just doesn't get it.] Are you a threat to humans? Because I gotta say, I don't get that from you. Werewolves don't wanna like...wipe humans out, right? [That would sort of make them like charr a little. Maybe.

After the touch, there's a crooked smile, as if to say, Well I'm not going to brag about my magic. It's really not something Vrenille is comfortable talking up though, and anyway, Jericho will inevitably see plenty in the morning, if not from him then from others. For now he smoothly sidesteps the topic as he pours more whiskey.]

It wasn't the meal. The night I met you I really needed to catch a break. The last penny I had in my pocket I'd used to buy that beer I was working all through my pitch. You know trying to work a bar like that...it's like trying to land a job with a guy who probably didn't think he was hiring for a post he probably wasn't expecting to pay to fill.

[He passes the refilled glass back to Jericho again.] I needed that gig so that I could keep going--so I could get back here, ultimately. The trouble you're in's written right on your shoulder; mine didn't have the same tell. Other'n that there's not so much difference.

I have no interest in wiping anyone out, nor do any of the other werewolves I know. [ Not that he knows very many. In addition to feeling disconnected from most humans, he spends most of his time avoiding other wolves as well. He's not one for sticking together, and his loyalty can be given to select people, but rarely whole groups. Just because they share the same cursed blood doesn't mean he feels any sense of connection with them. ] And any that do have probably been driven mad and deserve to be put down.

[ It's not lost on him that Vrenille has yet to give him a straight answer, but he isn't going to press. The non-answer really tells him much of what he wants to know, anyway. ] You were lucky I was drinking that night. Inhibited the senses. [ Though it's not exceptionally hard to catch him drinking. ] Lucky you have that face, too. It helped.

[Vrenille takes a long slow swallow of his drink before setting the glass back down. He's thinking about chance and coincidence and, sure, luck. But also about different worlds and what that all means.] I didn't spend all that much time in your world, ultimately, but I think I got the picture that humans run the show pretty clear.

It's not like that here. Three or four hundred years ago, maybe. But not now.

Anyway, I don't think you have to worry about anyone hunting you here's what I'm saying. So maybe Lyssa's smiled on us both. [He gives a wry smirk, not thinking for the moment that references to the human gods probably don't translate easily from one world to the next. Instead, he takes the liberty of casually starting to get Jericho undressed, pulling off the man's shoes before setting hands on the waist of his trousers.] Sort of begs the question what your senses will tell you in the morning when the haze of pain and drink has faded a bit, don't you think?

Yeah. You wouldn't have seen a lot of people like you or I flaunting themselves. [ It's almost strange knowing that he could go out here and not have to worry about blending in. He thinks to ask about the gods, but he doesn't care for gods in general, and then his focus slips when Vrenille's hands are suddenly on him. Pain radiates through his shoulder as he shifts, a crease in his brow as he looks down at him. He's capable of undressing himself, but it would take longer and look considerably more ridiculous if he did. He absently wonders if mixing alcohol and the effects of silver that have his blood feeling uncomfortably warm had been such a good idea.

He exhales, canting his hips lightly. ] They'll tell me I've made worse decisions than this. Much worse, with far more unfavorable company.

[More ridiculous and also, Vrenille suspects, considerably more painful. He’s not trying to start anything here, he just figures that it makes more sense this way, with him opening the front of Jericho’s pants and sliding them down as he complies with the gesture.] In that case they’ll be very right. Not that I know anything about the worse company you’ve kept before. I just know a thing or two about the company here—besides me, I mean.

[He sets Jericho’s trousers on a chair and starts to get himself changed for bed as well. It’s different than the way he behaves when he’s working—a genuine casualness that’s more intimate than just him taking his clothes off. He takes his clothes off for a lot of people, but he takes his game face off for very few. The number who’ve seen him in his bedroom pulling on his simple cotton pyjama pants like this is well under a dozen.] Just roll with it in the morning, yeah? Even if it seems a bit strange.

[Whatever Jericho is or isn’t used to seeing as far as nonhumans flaunting themselves, he’s willing to bet it won’t hold a candle to what he’s going to see here by the light of day.]

You're making it sound as though I'm going to regret being here in the morning. [ Realistically speaking, he won't exactly be fit for travel in the morning. However, that normally has never stopped him from leaving -- not from a one-night stand or anything else, and this falls somewhere in the "anything else" category.

He works on his second drink as Vrenille gets dressed for bed, and while his regular experience is having to drink double or triple the average amount to feel anything, right now he feels dizzy. The temperature in the room seems to rise, and before he knows it his cheek is resting against his pillow, glass still cradled in his hand. He cracks his eyes open, vision swimming before coming to focus on the window. This feeling of complete weakness is unusual to him; even through the worst of injuries he still manages to keep some semblance of strength. Right now he feels vulnerable, useless, yet he somehow still wants another drink -- perhaps it'll push him over the edge into unconsciousness instead of this in-between state where he feels he might catch fire from the inside. ]

I'm sure I'll have seen stranger. [ His whole life is strange. He exhales quietly, rubbing his tired eyes. ] Strange doesn't bother me quite as much as normal things like expectations and feelings.

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