[ His eyes squeeze firmly shut the instant he's on the bed, wading through the fact that his equilibrium seems to be playing out in the pattern of that infinity symbol everyone's getting tattooed on these days. He read somewhere that if you curl your tongue into a circle and breathe in through it, it helps alleviate the feeling of being about to barf. Something about the cool air being pulled in before it gets too body-temperature, sort of like a straw. He can't attest for certain whether or not that helps or if it's just fucking time, but the feeling gradually eases off enough that he chances opening his eyes. ]
I have a pretty good idea--
[ He grunts, a counter but not an argument. Yeah, he's very self-aware, knows it's crazy, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.
It's easier to slump back like this, a relief not to have the pressure on his wound anymore now that the bleeding's mostly stemmed. Nice to have something soft at his back instead of hard. That rippling relief sinks into just about every piece of his posture, visible from across the room even though he slings his right arm over his eyes like a mask to block out the light.
A slow exhale or two, and then he sounds more like himself than he has since getting his chest carved open. ]
Do you bench press that white horse you rode in on or is it just, like, crossfit?
[ It's honestly all the more impressive considering Ian's not exactly particularly slender himself. He's in the same trade, he's got the same sort of expectations in terms of physicality - ramming tools into place, working with your shoulders, hauling and lifting and tightening his way into some decent musculature on his frame. He wasn't a scrawny thing to carry, for sure.
It's a hypothetical question. That's probably enough hilarious commentary to help soothe his insecure ego for right now, maybe time to touch om serious business again.
He doesn't bother lifting his arm off his face when he speaks. ]
What do you need to reinforce the doors? I can probably still... you know.
[ Left arm up an inch. Blue tinted glow for all of two seconds before he lays it back down. The laziest display of all time. ]
no subject
I have a pretty good idea--
[ He grunts, a counter but not an argument. Yeah, he's very self-aware, knows it's crazy, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.
It's easier to slump back like this, a relief not to have the pressure on his wound anymore now that the bleeding's mostly stemmed. Nice to have something soft at his back instead of hard. That rippling relief sinks into just about every piece of his posture, visible from across the room even though he slings his right arm over his eyes like a mask to block out the light.
A slow exhale or two, and then he sounds more like himself than he has since getting his chest carved open. ]
Do you bench press that white horse you rode in on or is it just, like, crossfit?
[ It's honestly all the more impressive considering Ian's not exactly particularly slender himself. He's in the same trade, he's got the same sort of expectations in terms of physicality - ramming tools into place, working with your shoulders, hauling and lifting and tightening his way into some decent musculature on his frame. He wasn't a scrawny thing to carry, for sure.
It's a hypothetical question. That's probably enough hilarious commentary to help soothe his insecure ego for right now, maybe time to touch om serious business again.
He doesn't bother lifting his arm off his face when he speaks. ]
What do you need to reinforce the doors? I can probably still... you know.
[ Left arm up an inch. Blue tinted glow for all of two seconds before he lays it back down. The laziest display of all time. ]