[ The blue glow flickers out around the time they hit that bend, and he holds out a newly minted canteen full of water toward Mace. You drink first; he's done more of the exerting himself, he's been awake this entire time, he needs it more than Ian does. They've both been sweating, though - once it's empty he's gonna fill it again. Maybe twice over.
The objective may be complete, but he doesn't unlink his arm from Mace's. They're still joined at the waist by that robe belt, but he's past the point of feeling like anything less than physical touch is enough. Hands, arms, whatever it is he needs it.
If they ever make it out of here, that's probably gonna fuck him up. Be one of the hardest things to get over. It's gonna take so much fucking therapy.
Focus on the present before you dread the future, Fowler.
He recalls the knapsack, the lumps in it. The furs, the lantern. Do you know how he killed Mary? He can't connect the dots between these things, they don't seem to have... any common thread, any underlying deeper meaning aside from location or perhaps possession by the killer, Mary, or their poet. ]
Why am I stabbing you?
[ For calling out that he was wrong about the doctor mask being a puzzle? His ego's not all that fragile. ]
I don't know. Maybe you're right, maybe there was a hint in it - or maybe this place really fuckin' wants you to lay hands on that shit. How'd the fucking lantern get in the tunnel with us? I didn't kick it, I don't think you did, I'm pretty sure Ms. Mary Mack didn't throw it in, and the first thing you asked me is whether or not you ought to light it.
[ Just saying. It could be nothing. It could be coincidence. ]
Or maybe you're right, and it was filled up with Mary's jaw. Or, third theory, we were always supposed to wind up in here, we were supposed to pick up the damn lantern and the knapsack and carry it through this tunnel like we're recreating the story. How the hell'd you know that was a door in the first place?
[ Sorry man, he slept so both his mind and his mouth are back to rattling off stuff a mile a minute without enough space in between for answers to these theories he's pitching out back to back. ]
no subject
The objective may be complete, but he doesn't unlink his arm from Mace's. They're still joined at the waist by that robe belt, but he's past the point of feeling like anything less than physical touch is enough. Hands, arms, whatever it is he needs it.
If they ever make it out of here, that's probably gonna fuck him up. Be one of the hardest things to get over. It's gonna take so much fucking therapy.
Focus on the present before you dread the future, Fowler.
He recalls the knapsack, the lumps in it. The furs, the lantern. Do you know how he killed Mary? He can't connect the dots between these things, they don't seem to have... any common thread, any underlying deeper meaning aside from location or perhaps possession by the killer, Mary, or their poet. ]
Why am I stabbing you?
[ For calling out that he was wrong about the doctor mask being a puzzle? His ego's not all that fragile. ]
I don't know. Maybe you're right, maybe there was a hint in it - or maybe this place really fuckin' wants you to lay hands on that shit. How'd the fucking lantern get in the tunnel with us? I didn't kick it, I don't think you did, I'm pretty sure Ms. Mary Mack didn't throw it in, and the first thing you asked me is whether or not you ought to light it.
[ Just saying. It could be nothing. It could be coincidence. ]
Or maybe you're right, and it was filled up with Mary's jaw. Or, third theory, we were always supposed to wind up in here, we were supposed to pick up the damn lantern and the knapsack and carry it through this tunnel like we're recreating the story. How the hell'd you know that was a door in the first place?
[ Sorry man, he slept so both his mind and his mouth are back to rattling off stuff a mile a minute without enough space in between for answers to these theories he's pitching out back to back. ]