R reaches up, touches the necklace with the tips of his fingers. He’s not sure it can attach, actually. No loop-holes or hooks. But he can at least describe it. “It’s…green and red. Smoky.”
He pauses to think more about it, his fingers tangling in the necklace as he wracks his brain. Having something tangible, something he knows Howard was carrying helps him to focus. Makes the thoughts seem to matter more. Feel more like himself than before.
“Like…” R would shrug if he could. It’s hard to put into words. He doesn’t want to say it’s the color of blood or its green is the color of the wild grass growing through the sidewalks in bunches. “Emerald. Sun and then…fire..?”
It’s not exact but that’s all R seems to have in him for now, speaking wise. For all the times he longed to speak and now he’s too tired to bother. What he wants to do is focus on breathing – in, out; his chest rising and falling – and Howard there stroking his face. Filling up space above him with his presence. It’s not that electricity he could sense as a corpse by inhaling; it’s a difference sense, something that must’ve died when you turned into a zombie. Now it’s there, R relaxing into it. As far as he’s concerned, they could last the whole Arena in this one stairwell, just the two of them.
R’s fingers clench around the necklace without realizing, so tight Howard might have to pry it out of his fingers. Or off his cold dead body.
no subject
He pauses to think more about it, his fingers tangling in the necklace as he wracks his brain. Having something tangible, something he knows Howard was carrying helps him to focus. Makes the thoughts seem to matter more. Feel more like himself than before.
“Like…” R would shrug if he could. It’s hard to put into words. He doesn’t want to say it’s the color of blood or its green is the color of the wild grass growing through the sidewalks in bunches. “Emerald. Sun and then…fire..?”
It’s not exact but that’s all R seems to have in him for now, speaking wise. For all the times he longed to speak and now he’s too tired to bother. What he wants to do is focus on breathing – in, out; his chest rising and falling – and Howard there stroking his face. Filling up space above him with his presence. It’s not that electricity he could sense as a corpse by inhaling; it’s a difference sense, something that must’ve died when you turned into a zombie. Now it’s there, R relaxing into it. As far as he’s concerned, they could last the whole Arena in this one stairwell, just the two of them.
R’s fingers clench around the necklace without realizing, so tight Howard might have to pry it out of his fingers. Or off his cold dead body.