[ Flat, insistent. He doesn't want to know, in truth, because that means admitting to more of all this weird goddamn magic shit being real, and not just some delusion he can brush off later. (This blood doesn't feel like an illusion, already drying, tacky on his skin and clothes, and that's bad enough.)
The deserted showers are a relief, as much as the running water that starts without trouble when he steps into a stall (it'll take him another two decades to get used to that again). Cold or not, he doesn't care, scrubbing at his hands and face. It's not Infected blood, but he washes it off with the same fervor.
Though with some reprieve from his dazed wandering (the cold water's a nice wakeup), his back is up again. ]
no subject
[ Flat, insistent. He doesn't want to know, in truth, because that means admitting to more of all this weird goddamn magic shit being real, and not just some delusion he can brush off later. (This blood doesn't feel like an illusion, already drying, tacky on his skin and clothes, and that's bad enough.)
The deserted showers are a relief, as much as the running water that starts without trouble when he steps into a stall (it'll take him another two decades to get used to that again). Cold or not, he doesn't care, scrubbing at his hands and face. It's not Infected blood, but he washes it off with the same fervor.
Though with some reprieve from his dazed wandering (the cold water's a nice wakeup), his back is up again. ]
What's any of this matter to you?