breathe. | | — @blarsal, from here.
Of course there’s nothing Charles would rather do more than trap himself inside a thirty-minute long tourist ride in the middle of winter with the kin of those he utterly despised. He could not even have a smoke. Really, the only possible entertainment he could glean from all this stemmed from the realization that the Icelander was enjoying himself even less.
Charles pulled his coat tighter around his frame as he sat on the oval seating section in the centre of their private capsule. It was a biting cold evening, and the city lights shone on the horizon like diamonds as Charles watched the other’s face slowly turn as pale as the Eye’s blinding white illumination reflected in the dark waters below.
“Yes, I can see that,” his tone held no sympathy for the poor boy about to be overcome by panic. Instead he expressed full dissatisfaction towards this turn of events, slowly shaking his head from side to side in condescending disapproval. It was incredibly stupid of Iceland to have requested an activity such as this when he knew it could prove detrimental to him.
“I’m afraid we’re stuck here for a good twenty minutes yet,” Charles informed, lowering the hem of his glove only slightly enough to look at his watch. “Gain control of your breathing; close your eyes if you have to.” He offered some suggestions that might help alleviate an oncoming panic attack. “Perhaps try sitting down and placing your head between your knees.” As he removed a sleek mobile phone from the the inner pocket of his coat, he shot a hard glance in the young man’s direction, “but whatever you do, do not throw up.”