[ He nods, mostly because he doesn't trust himself to speak. It helped a little, kept him from getting blurry around the edges of his vision. Kept his hands steady while he worked, dousing the thing and plucking up his pack of matches. He fists them tightly, and though there's a set to his shoulders it's pretty clear he's out of his depth.
He has never, in any daydream, ever thought he'd have to fucking molotov something. He's ready to pass them over the second Mace makes it clear he'll be doing the chucking instead of Ian.
Convinced himself he's gonna fuck up and drop the matches somehow in the moment of truth or something equally as devastating.
But he's ready.
They're ready.
On three, a nod, a silent countdown, and--
There's nothing on the other side of the window. Not a goddamn thing but open space and trees and undisturbed mud. ]
no subject
He has never, in any daydream, ever thought he'd have to fucking molotov something. He's ready to pass them over the second Mace makes it clear he'll be doing the chucking instead of Ian.
Convinced himself he's gonna fuck up and drop the matches somehow in the moment of truth or something equally as devastating.
But he's ready.
They're ready.
On three, a nod, a silent countdown, and--
There's nothing on the other side of the window. Not a goddamn thing but open space and trees and undisturbed mud. ]