[Well, that was a pretty fucking useless query, wasn't it? Hallucinations never admit to their own nature. They don't so much as acknowledge the fact that their existence is, in general, pretty improbable. But then, most things here are. Floating islands, snake-fish people, water that sends you to an alternate world that requires an Orphic ritual to draw you back out again - all about as strange as something he'd see in a flare of static.]
[Problem is that Ginko keeps...skipping. Like a tape getting rewound. He flickers choppily, like a roaring flame, glitching forward and back.]
[That kinda implies he might not all be there. But then - Tim would laugh, if he had the sense of humor for it - Tim isn't really all there either, huh? Not by a fucking long-shot.]
Thought someone m-might need h... [The words gum behind his teeth. Or maybe that's the admixture of bodily fluids that are struggling to work their way up his throat. Yeah, actually, he thinks it might be that. He retches a stew of blood and bile, stained white with rot, wishing he could muster the requisite energy to wipe the rest of it from his chin and cheek before it tries into a sour-smelling mask.]
[He should be dead.]
[He should get up.]
[He would, really, but he suspects that whatever's holding him together would cease to, if he tried.]
Headed ov...over, [he works out, the words rasping. With the amount of...things that keep leaking out of him, one way or another, the waves of vertigo that keep tearing away what little equilibrium he has, the sheen of cold sweat that's chilling his arms, he has to wonder if he'll die of dehydration first. That'd be a hell of a way to go out when he looks like this. Truly, it would.]
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[Problem is that Ginko keeps...skipping. Like a tape getting rewound. He flickers choppily, like a roaring flame, glitching forward and back.]
[That kinda implies he might not all be there. But then - Tim would laugh, if he had the sense of humor for it - Tim isn't really all there either, huh? Not by a fucking long-shot.]
Thought someone m-might need h... [The words gum behind his teeth. Or maybe that's the admixture of bodily fluids that are struggling to work their way up his throat. Yeah, actually, he thinks it might be that. He retches a stew of blood and bile, stained white with rot, wishing he could muster the requisite energy to wipe the rest of it from his chin and cheek before it tries into a sour-smelling mask.]
[He should be dead.]
[He should get up.]
[He would, really, but he suspects that whatever's holding him together would cease to, if he tried.]
Headed ov...over, [he works out, the words rasping. With the amount of...things that keep leaking out of him, one way or another, the waves of vertigo that keep tearing away what little equilibrium he has, the sheen of cold sweat that's chilling his arms, he has to wonder if he'll die of dehydration first. That'd be a hell of a way to go out when he looks like this. Truly, it would.]