Okay, no, it's a little too soon to judge. Leon has to believe that there's something better waiting for them at the end of this whole shitty trek. He hadn't actually thought the trek could get any more shitty after the jungle, and yet here we are! At least he'd been able to see in the fucking jungle, even if he hadn't liked most of what there was to see. In here . . . he likes what he can't see even less.
He gropes his way along the cliffs, eyes straining to see in the dark, to little effect. Shit. Every step is like flirting with death, a thing he is not interested in doing again. His hands are everywhere, pawing along the rock walls . . .
And possibly along you, if you get in range of them.
Whenever he accidentally gets his hands on someone, he startles, hands curling in their clothing to cling on rather than shove away. He doesn't want anyone to jerk back and go toppling off . . . and there's a part of him, not too deep down, that's grateful for the contact right now, even if he can't see where it's coming from.
It's fuckin' lonely in here. He hates every part of this.]
Shit--soooorry, careful, don't move! Who's that?!
IV: I forgot to title this section and now have to edit it really fast before anyone notices, pretend it says something pretentious
What the fuck did you do to us?! Hey! Heeeey!
[This entire friggin' month--the flood, the jungle, the march down the volcano, literally everything!--has been one endless bleak night of Leon not being able to do a goddamn thing about anything, or able to see the future ahead. He's been going along with all of this in the hope that there would be something at the end of the line. Anything. Please.
And now here they are, and there isn't. There's nothing but stifling heat (he'd stripped down to just his pants and shoes ages ago), choking air (his screaming isn't helping him breathe, and his chest feels tighter with each passing minute, heavy with some panicked dread he can't name), hunger (he can't even think about that anymore, there's so much else), and--
No, that's it. This is all there is. It's not that he can't see the future ahead. It's that there's not one. He can't do anything.
Except for fling himself onto the shrine and beg for mercy. And that's where you'll find him, howling at the spot where Ardeo vanished, shoulders shaking and tears streaming down his face. (Shit. He probably needed that water.)]
Hey! Hey, hey, hey, come back! Don't do this to us! I don't wanna die again. I don't wanna die again! I don't! Come back come back come back!
no subject
[Where we'll be living?!
Okay, no, it's a little too soon to judge. Leon has to believe that there's something better waiting for them at the end of this whole shitty trek. He hadn't actually thought the trek could get any more shitty after the jungle, and yet here we are! At least he'd been able to see in the fucking jungle, even if he hadn't liked most of what there was to see. In here . . . he likes what he can't see even less.
He gropes his way along the cliffs, eyes straining to see in the dark, to little effect. Shit. Every step is like flirting with death, a thing he is not interested in doing again. His hands are everywhere, pawing along the rock walls . . .
And possibly along you, if you get in range of them.
Whenever he accidentally gets his hands on someone, he startles, hands curling in their clothing to cling on rather than shove away. He doesn't want anyone to jerk back and go toppling off . . . and there's a part of him, not too deep down, that's grateful for the contact right now, even if he can't see where it's coming from.
It's fuckin' lonely in here. He hates every part of this.]
Shit--soooorry, careful, don't move! Who's that?!
IV: I forgot to title this section and now have to edit it really fast before anyone notices, pretend it says something pretentious
What the fuck did you do to us?! Hey! Heeeey!
[This entire friggin' month--the flood, the jungle, the march down the volcano, literally everything!--has been one endless bleak night of Leon not being able to do a goddamn thing about anything, or able to see the future ahead. He's been going along with all of this in the hope that there would be something at the end of the line. Anything. Please.
And now here they are, and there isn't. There's nothing but stifling heat (he'd stripped down to just his pants and shoes ages ago), choking air (his screaming isn't helping him breathe, and his chest feels tighter with each passing minute, heavy with some panicked dread he can't name), hunger (he can't even think about that anymore, there's so much else), and--
No, that's it. This is all there is. It's not that he can't see the future ahead. It's that there's not one. He can't do anything.
Except for fling himself onto the shrine and beg for mercy. And that's where you'll find him, howling at the spot where Ardeo vanished, shoulders shaking and tears streaming down his face. (Shit. He probably needed that water.)]
Hey! Hey, hey, hey, come back! Don't do this to us! I don't wanna die again. I don't wanna die again! I don't! Come back come back come back!