‘ does it bother you, captain ? ’ rick’s shoulders shift, he doesn’t acknowledge, eyes settled on upturned wrist as he watches the hand of watch tick - there’s no reflection, only wayward grains of sand lodged into the hefty crack in glass face. he doesn’t typically feed into the banter of hvi’s. ‘ does it bother you that you let them die ? ’ attention pulls from his watch, fire stare shifting. 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗱𝗶𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙘𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩 - he recognizes the stare he meets as his own so suddenly that it makes his stomach drop through his feet ; the home is his own, dimly lit in the long evening hours. ( they say you never get the smell of burning out of your nose. ) ᶠᵃᶜᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵃᵐᵉˢ ᵐᵉˡᵗ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ - ‘ it bothers you, i can tell. ’ he flexes fingers, he thinks, but they feel numb ; like he isn’t in his own body. head cranes, reflection mimicking the motion. a foot in the webbing of his gear, kicking and kicking and kicking. blood slinks across the features of his alleged reflection, and he instinctively brings a hand up to his own face. it’s just sweat. the shared space swelters, fingers retrieve the neck of frosted beer bottle, he settles it to the curve of mouth with a nervous sort of breath. ‘ incompetence is the ultimate killer, captain. you know how it goes. ’ nostrils flare, eyes close hard - he keeps them closed momentarily. ( take it easy, flag, your brain is just jumbled right now. ) a sharp pain electrifies through his teeth, he probably shouldn’t be drinking with the pain medication. eyes reopen - the soft curve of glass bottle is the cold curve of sidearm.
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