Ford doesn't look where he's going - he doesn't particularly care where he's going so long as it puts some distance between himself and his brother. A little distance, that's all he needs. Some distance and some time to think, some time to get his shit together and figure out how the hell he's going to address these new, terrifying developments in Stan's supernatural abilities.
He moves without thinking, and he damn near steps right through that sizable hole in the deck of the ship before its suddenly stitched back together beneath his boot - the splintered wood melds back together seamlessly, all those broken and battered pieces fusing into solid, sturdy planks. Within moments the ship looks good as new, like it had never been touched.
Ford can't help but wonder if Stan knows he can probably do that in reverse, too. If he really wanted to, if the mood ever struck him, he could probably tear things apart and stitch them back together again, and again, and again and--
Ford Swallows hard against the sudden burning feeling in the back of his throat and grimaces against the taste of bile. It's nothing, probably just seasickness. Nevermind that he's never been seasick even once, not even when they were children with sensitive stomachs and weak constitutions. There's a first time for everything, right? Right.
"I'm fine, Stanley."
He doesn't turn around, he doesn't even spare a look over his shoulder. He just keeps walking forward, his gait tense and stilted as he makes his way towards the cabin and prays that his brother doesn't follow.
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He moves without thinking, and he damn near steps right through that sizable hole in the deck of the ship before its suddenly stitched back together beneath his boot - the splintered wood melds back together seamlessly, all those broken and battered pieces fusing into solid, sturdy planks. Within moments the ship looks good as new, like it had never been touched.
Ford can't help but wonder if Stan knows he can probably do that in reverse, too. If he really wanted to, if the mood ever struck him, he could probably tear things apart and stitch them back together again, and again, and again and--
Ford Swallows hard against the sudden burning feeling in the back of his throat and grimaces against the taste of bile. It's nothing, probably just seasickness. Nevermind that he's never been seasick even once, not even when they were children with sensitive stomachs and weak constitutions. There's a first time for everything, right? Right.
"I'm fine, Stanley."
He doesn't turn around, he doesn't even spare a look over his shoulder. He just keeps walking forward, his gait tense and stilted as he makes his way towards the cabin and prays that his brother doesn't follow.