[ His gaze hones in on Vasquez, sprawled out in the dirt, and—
Once again, the bastard looks like he's been through the wringer.
Faraday winces to himself, scrubbing at the dried blood clinging to his beard and chin – though he knows there's nothing for it aside from another dunk in a river. He pushes himself up, holding his breath against the various warning flares from his various wounds – new and otherwise.
With obvious strain, ]
You look like shit.
[ Ostensibly a joke, but there's an undercurrent of genuine concern in his voice. ]
no subject
Once again, the bastard looks like he's been through the wringer.
Faraday winces to himself, scrubbing at the dried blood clinging to his beard and chin – though he knows there's nothing for it aside from another dunk in a river. He pushes himself up, holding his breath against the various warning flares from his various wounds – new and otherwise.
With obvious strain, ]
You look like shit.
[ Ostensibly a joke, but there's an undercurrent of genuine concern in his voice. ]