Yeah, I guess you'd know. [ Is his commentary on the recycling practices of cannibalistic spiders, issued to the neat row of bottles he's assembled. He's been idly speculating as to where they all came from—misguided well-wishers or a sponsorship of some kind.
He doesn't turn to look at John until the question, his body tensing at the sight of—not the wound but the blood staining the bandage, John's pale fingers. ] Come on. [ He steps to the bedside, grabs for John's wrist. Decisive, for once. ] Quit showing off.
no subject
He doesn't turn to look at John until the question, his body tensing at the sight of—not the wound but the blood staining the bandage, John's pale fingers. ] Come on. [ He steps to the bedside, grabs for John's wrist. Decisive, for once. ] Quit showing off.