[ It's an unsteady signal, flexed like a new limb, clumsy and unaware. He still gets the gist of it, and focuses on that: focuses on separating Augustine's mind from his own. It's been a hell of a long time since he was more than one guy in one body, since he had any active awareness of another half. ]
Fuck yourself, [ thinks John, conversationally, which is at least a good sight more coherent than he'd been a moment ago. He's scraping it together; he's packing it all in behind the ringing distance. Panic and fury seethe where he's banked them, just out of hearing. ] This is idiotic. Was this your idea? Are you—
[ He doesn't mean to think it, but the meaning blurs across anyway, sharp as it is with distress: paying for me, like you always have? My sacrifice at whose altar? What will it even buy us? ]
no subject
Fuck yourself, [ thinks John, conversationally, which is at least a good sight more coherent than he'd been a moment ago. He's scraping it together; he's packing it all in behind the ringing distance. Panic and fury seethe where he's banked them, just out of hearing. ] This is idiotic. Was this your idea? Are you—
[ He doesn't mean to think it, but the meaning blurs across anyway, sharp as it is with distress: paying for me, like you always have? My sacrifice at whose altar? What will it even buy us? ]