[ He thinks - and it isn't a great leap to make, frankly - that he might have some deep issues developing. Post traumatic stress disorder, something involuntarily seizing control of his bodily responses despite his mind's frantic effort to stay calm. Stay in that level place of rational decision-making. It's beyond choice, though, beyond control, the way his breathing's picking up and the panic's flaring bright and the way it's making him lightheaded.
Fuck, fuck. Deliberate breathing. Concentrate on your breath. Slow inhale, slow exhale, do not pass out, do not throw up.
Mace's body blocking out the room is a welcome, grounding thing. Familiar smell, trusted shape, easy low voice that pulls him out of his head for a second.
Small bottle of- ]
Are you gonna fuckin' molotov them?
[ He breathes, incredulous.
Well, why the fuck not, right?
Palm up. Dim blue glow. Slower this time than before, because the glass has to come first and then the liquid sifts between the glass's molecular structure --
More than one component is time consuming, but he manages it. Twisty cap and everything. ]
no subject
Fuck, fuck. Deliberate breathing. Concentrate on your breath. Slow inhale, slow exhale, do not pass out, do not throw up.
Mace's body blocking out the room is a welcome, grounding thing. Familiar smell, trusted shape, easy low voice that pulls him out of his head for a second.
Small bottle of- ]
Are you gonna fuckin' molotov them?
[ He breathes, incredulous.
Well, why the fuck not, right?
Palm up. Dim blue glow. Slower this time than before, because the glass has to come first and then the liquid sifts between the glass's molecular structure --
More than one component is time consuming, but he manages it. Twisty cap and everything. ]