A little bit of expression might be creeping in, now. Just a little. A little frown, a tiny pinch between those fuzzy Pines eyebrows, the look of a guy not seeing what he expected. It feels bad, too - there's this sort of heavy, inevitable feel behind the thought, there's another mark in the 'real boy' column. Heavy and inevitable like the anvil of Damocles, or- wait, sword of Damocles? Is it a sword?
Whatever.
He dismisses the thought, just watches Ford all jittery and maybe babbling a little, showing the kind of nerves he'd never imagine Ford having after a moment like that, not even in an uncontrollable hallucination, and he feels that weight hanging over his head.
"Thought about hearing you say that about a million times," he shares in a voice whose tone has started to slip over from 'bland' into 'dull'. He can't think of any reason not to share. It's too much work, anyway, to keep his thoughts from coming out his mouth. He lets Ford clasp their hands together, feels those six fingers against his like some lost and golden dream and tilts his head back to take a swig of that milk, making a face as he tries to decide whether it hurts his mouth.
It's not too bad. He swallows, and considers a second more. "I never figured you'd get all spazzy after."
He puts the milk between his knees so he can rub his forehead, eyes briefly closed, and he feels some vague sort-of regret at having had to trade off that last pill. Maybe that heavy feeling ain't all because of Mr. Friendly Hallucination waving that metaphorical Greek sword around, and the pill coulda' put that off a little while.
It was a good trade. A great trade. The best deal he'll ever make in his life, probably. But that don't mean it ain't a shame, sort of.
"Come on." He straightens up, swinging his legs inside the car and leaning back against the seat, leaning his head back, too, so no part of his body has to try and hold itself up and he looks up at Ford through eyes that don't want to stay all the way open. "I know those guys, uh, from before, I know they were real but I don't, uh, I don't really know how far I got. So we better vamoose while the vamoosin's good. Goin' until you run outta' gas is usually a good start, but I don't know when they woulda' noticed. Maybe on the road. Car woulda' been lighter, at least, and I mighta' made some noise..."
He trails off, eyes sliding off to one side of Ford's face and going out of focus as he tries to think about it. "Hey, Mr. Successful, you happen to know anything about spottin' tails?"
no subject
Whatever.
He dismisses the thought, just watches Ford all jittery and maybe babbling a little, showing the kind of nerves he'd never imagine Ford having after a moment like that, not even in an uncontrollable hallucination, and he feels that weight hanging over his head.
"Thought about hearing you say that about a million times," he shares in a voice whose tone has started to slip over from 'bland' into 'dull'. He can't think of any reason not to share. It's too much work, anyway, to keep his thoughts from coming out his mouth. He lets Ford clasp their hands together, feels those six fingers against his like some lost and golden dream and tilts his head back to take a swig of that milk, making a face as he tries to decide whether it hurts his mouth.
It's not too bad. He swallows, and considers a second more. "I never figured you'd get all spazzy after."
He puts the milk between his knees so he can rub his forehead, eyes briefly closed, and he feels some vague sort-of regret at having had to trade off that last pill. Maybe that heavy feeling ain't all because of Mr. Friendly Hallucination waving that metaphorical Greek sword around, and the pill coulda' put that off a little while.
It was a good trade. A great trade. The best deal he'll ever make in his life, probably. But that don't mean it ain't a shame, sort of.
"Come on." He straightens up, swinging his legs inside the car and leaning back against the seat, leaning his head back, too, so no part of his body has to try and hold itself up and he looks up at Ford through eyes that don't want to stay all the way open. "I know those guys, uh, from before, I know they were real but I don't, uh, I don't really know how far I got. So we better vamoose while the vamoosin's good. Goin' until you run outta' gas is usually a good start, but I don't know when they woulda' noticed. Maybe on the road. Car woulda' been lighter, at least, and I mighta' made some noise..."
He trails off, eyes sliding off to one side of Ford's face and going out of focus as he tries to think about it. "Hey, Mr. Successful, you happen to know anything about spottin' tails?"