[ Quiet, mostly to himself. So that's what they're called.
He likes it. He'd like to read up on theory behind it, if it existed. Maybe it does. Maybe he hasn't been looking in the right places.
He can't think hard enough right now to distract himself from the pain.
Despite everything, he still startles when Akechi crouches next to him and begins to work on his back. An involuntary hiss of pain at the first touch, but that's all he'll allow himself, determined to take this on the nose. There is a bitter, spiteful corner of his mind churning through the list of people who have implied his weakness during his short time in Somnius. Undoubtedly his reality is softer than almost all of theirs, but that has never meant that he's weak. He won't let their assessment of him win.
When Akechi gestures for the kit, he hands it over. When Akechi tells him he'll be sleeping first, he nods. No argument, no desire to do so. Maruki is a good patient. And Akechi isn't as terrible at this as he might think.
Maruki didn't have to ask for the help, and Akechi didn't offer. They simply fell into a strange sort of partnership. Forced by their circumstances, sure, but. That isn't lost on him. Not at all.
He breathes evenly, eyes closed, counting out his breaths to try to slow his heart and relax even a bit. Doesn't mention anything about the plan yet. Neither of their minds are in the right place. Food, water, rest. Survive. How much longer will they be here? It doesn't matter. They'll survive.
He shifts to sit on the floor properly while Akechi is rooting through the kit, pulls one knee up, drapes his good arm and rests his chin on it. Speaks slowly as Akechi works to patch him up, his usual chatty nature subdued. ]
I wonder if mine will have the ability. I feel like it would make sense, considering the manifestation of will, but...
[ But Azathoth already shares a larger goal with him. Their persecuted ideology.
He shrugs his good shoulder, shakes his head. All the adrenaline this time went to keeping him upright and fighting after injury, and he's openly exhausted, unable to feign otherwise.
Which is strange in his own right. So long spent playing at being the perfect counselor, staid and upright, with energy to spare for everyone and no woes of his own – and so little significant contact with others outside of the job – has left him used to the role. He can't remember who he last felt comfortable enough around to let it drop.
He tries to glance back at what Akechi's doing but can only see the top of his own gouged shoulder, not the bulk of the damage that he can now feel all too keenly. ]
How bad is it?
[ He doesn't sound frightened, or panicked, or anxious. Merely curious. ]
no subject
[ Quiet, mostly to himself. So that's what they're called.
He likes it. He'd like to read up on theory behind it, if it existed. Maybe it does. Maybe he hasn't been looking in the right places.
He can't think hard enough right now to distract himself from the pain.
Despite everything, he still startles when Akechi crouches next to him and begins to work on his back. An involuntary hiss of pain at the first touch, but that's all he'll allow himself, determined to take this on the nose. There is a bitter, spiteful corner of his mind churning through the list of people who have implied his weakness during his short time in Somnius. Undoubtedly his reality is softer than almost all of theirs, but that has never meant that he's weak. He won't let their assessment of him win.
When Akechi gestures for the kit, he hands it over. When Akechi tells him he'll be sleeping first, he nods. No argument, no desire to do so. Maruki is a good patient. And Akechi isn't as terrible at this as he might think.
Maruki didn't have to ask for the help, and Akechi didn't offer. They simply fell into a strange sort of partnership. Forced by their circumstances, sure, but. That isn't lost on him. Not at all.
He breathes evenly, eyes closed, counting out his breaths to try to slow his heart and relax even a bit. Doesn't mention anything about the plan yet. Neither of their minds are in the right place. Food, water, rest. Survive. How much longer will they be here? It doesn't matter. They'll survive.
He shifts to sit on the floor properly while Akechi is rooting through the kit, pulls one knee up, drapes his good arm and rests his chin on it. Speaks slowly as Akechi works to patch him up, his usual chatty nature subdued. ]
I wonder if mine will have the ability. I feel like it would make sense, considering the manifestation of will, but...
[ But Azathoth already shares a larger goal with him. Their persecuted ideology.
He shrugs his good shoulder, shakes his head. All the adrenaline this time went to keeping him upright and fighting after injury, and he's openly exhausted, unable to feign otherwise.
Which is strange in his own right. So long spent playing at being the perfect counselor, staid and upright, with energy to spare for everyone and no woes of his own – and so little significant contact with others outside of the job – has left him used to the role. He can't remember who he last felt comfortable enough around to let it drop.
He tries to glance back at what Akechi's doing but can only see the top of his own gouged shoulder, not the bulk of the damage that he can now feel all too keenly. ]
How bad is it?
[ He doesn't sound frightened, or panicked, or anxious. Merely curious. ]