To which Tim says nothing, but merely shrugs and hitches his pack a little more securely around his shoulders. The spear is slid free from the loops binding it to the back so he can keep a steady grip on it with one hand, his stone caught in the closed fist of the other.
"I don't remember ever insisting, but sure." He did just point out that it's a practical notion, but then, certain people have always been content to pick and choose what he says, and take away their preferred meaning without bothering to clarify.
Oh, I'm a psychopath, snarls Jay in the beds of memory, tinged in copper, you really wanna call me a psychopath after all these videos -
Bristle up against it: the inexorable cold clench around his heart and the jacket he doesn't think about wearing because it isn't his even if Chara stained it with his blood because he lay there shivering and bleeding into the dirt and he just needs to focus and not be a fucking liability for once in his life not be a fucking mess because goddamn one of them has to be stable here and it's never him but it has to be him so he can just walk on in like he didn't burn the whole place down like a psychopath and breathe in the mouthfuls of ash while the building crumbled like he couldn't just do it now and spark the place alight and breathe -
They're already there. The walls. Dark, but not with ash. Old, but not with burn damage. There's the anticipatory maggot-crawl of trepidation in his guts, under his skin, in the sour taste of his own fear behind his teeth.
"If you'd rather I call someone else, it doesn't matter."
cw: internalized ableism
"I don't remember ever insisting, but sure." He did just point out that it's a practical notion, but then, certain people have always been content to pick and choose what he says, and take away their preferred meaning without bothering to clarify.
Oh, I'm a psychopath, snarls Jay in the beds of memory, tinged in copper, you really wanna call me a psychopath after all these videos -
Bristle up against it: the inexorable cold clench around his heart and the jacket he doesn't think about wearing because it isn't his even if Chara stained it with his blood because he lay there shivering and bleeding into the dirt and he just needs to focus and not be a fucking liability for once in his life not be a fucking mess because goddamn one of them has to be stable here and it's never him but it has to be him so he can just walk on in like he didn't burn the whole place down like a psychopath and breathe in the mouthfuls of ash while the building crumbled like he couldn't just do it now and spark the place alight and breathe -
They're already there. The walls. Dark, but not with ash. Old, but not with burn damage. There's the anticipatory maggot-crawl of trepidation in his guts, under his skin, in the sour taste of his own fear behind his teeth.
"If you'd rather I call someone else, it doesn't matter."