[LIke a shot of ice from head to his spine, a fresh inflorescence of pain spidering out from the nerves clustered at the back of his neck, uncoiling until they press up against the backs of his lids when he blinks, dense like a migraine. In his head. He remembers. He - ]
[What is it that spools up in his guts, clenches like some writhing, squirming thing? Disgust, maybe.]
[Or maybe the taste of blood, from where his teeth have dug into his tongue.]
Feeling's mutual.
[Ignore it.]
[Focus, instead, on kicking over a table and bracing one shoulder against it to push it toward the door, to assist in the makeshift barricade.]
no subject
[What is it that spools up in his guts, clenches like some writhing, squirming thing? Disgust, maybe.]
[Or maybe the taste of blood, from where his teeth have dug into his tongue.]
Feeling's mutual.
[Ignore it.]
[Focus, instead, on kicking over a table and bracing one shoulder against it to push it toward the door, to assist in the makeshift barricade.]