[ He lifts the bottle to his lips with one hand, and with his other hand, he waves a little dismissively. The gesture is small, in deference to the half-healed wound high on his bicep, but the meaning is the same.
I know, I hear ya.
With one last healthy swig in his system, he corks the bottle, sliding it across the table to Vasquez – either as an offering to keep Faraday company, or an unspoken request for Vasquez to hold onto it for him for the morning.
Hard to say.
He collects his crutch, pushing himself to his feet. Unsurprisingly, he's unsteady, and the room tilts. Granted, he's used to both of those things, thanks to the various wounds and bruises littering his body and the medicine he'd been given to dull the pain. But this time, it's familiar, accompanied with a sort of fuzzy warmth and tingling in his limbs.
When he manages to stay upright, he starts hobbling his way toward the entrance. He pauses as he's limping past Vasquez.
He forces his voice to remain mild, forces himself to shove out that little thread of hope, though he's not sure how successful he is. ]
no subject
I know, I hear ya.
With one last healthy swig in his system, he corks the bottle, sliding it across the table to Vasquez – either as an offering to keep Faraday company, or an unspoken request for Vasquez to hold onto it for him for the morning.
Hard to say.
He collects his crutch, pushing himself to his feet. Unsurprisingly, he's unsteady, and the room tilts. Granted, he's used to both of those things, thanks to the various wounds and bruises littering his body and the medicine he'd been given to dull the pain. But this time, it's familiar, accompanied with a sort of fuzzy warmth and tingling in his limbs.
When he manages to stay upright, he starts hobbling his way toward the entrance. He pauses as he's limping past Vasquez.
He forces his voice to remain mild, forces himself to shove out that little thread of hope, though he's not sure how successful he is. ]
Comin'?