Firo’s eyes flick sideways to watch Roland’s hand going by his head. He doesn’t exactly know what touching a mind means, but he’s pretty sure he agrees that things are just fine right now without it. Maybe not fine overall, but they’re better off without weird brain-touching. And whatever the hell mescaline is. High? Well, he supposes Roland would’ve seen plenty of people high when he’s arresting them or shooting them or whatever it is gunslingers do. Still, he’s surprised at the comparison, but now’s just not the time. Stay on track, damn it.
Roland’s saying important things, after all, because gratitude can be a very solemn and serious affair. Firo blinks, touched. “Oh. It—“ It was nothing. Probably not the right response right now, he realizes, even if he was only doing what he’s supposed to. “Then that makes sense, I guess.” See? He knew it; there was a reason. A weird one, but once again, now is no time to dwell on culture clash. It’s all Firo can do to keep up with where Roland’s mind is moving.
Firo glances down at Roland’s hands and then back up to his face. He tightens his own grip on Roland's hand just a little more. Is he serious? He really can’t tell anything from Firo’s expression? In that case… he could get away with anything right now.
God, it could be so easy.
…But that would be taking advantage of a friend in need, and that’s just not right. “You’re not supposed to ask about me right now,” he huffs. Because, all things considered, he’s pretty damn fine, relatively; he’s not ‘high,’ he’s not raving, and he wasn’t just tortured like he’s pretty certain Roland was.
“I’m just… just worried about you. And I guess, uh… I guess I was scared you wouldn’t come back from this--that you'd be stuck freakin' out like that, I mean. But I’m glad to see you’re alive. I thought they might’ve killed you.”
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Roland’s saying important things, after all, because gratitude can be a very solemn and serious affair. Firo blinks, touched. “Oh. It—“ It was nothing. Probably not the right response right now, he realizes, even if he was only doing what he’s supposed to. “Then that makes sense, I guess.” See? He knew it; there was a reason. A weird one, but once again, now is no time to dwell on culture clash. It’s all Firo can do to keep up with where Roland’s mind is moving.
Firo glances down at Roland’s hands and then back up to his face. He tightens his own grip on Roland's hand just a little more. Is he serious? He really can’t tell anything from Firo’s expression? In that case… he could get away with anything right now.
God, it could be so easy.
…But that would be taking advantage of a friend in need, and that’s just not right. “You’re not supposed to ask about me right now,” he huffs. Because, all things considered, he’s pretty damn fine, relatively; he’s not ‘high,’ he’s not raving, and he wasn’t just tortured like he’s pretty certain Roland was.
“I’m just… just worried about you. And I guess, uh… I guess I was scared you wouldn’t come back from this--that you'd be stuck freakin' out like that, I mean. But I’m glad to see you’re alive. I thought they might’ve killed you.”