postictal: (this is my fault)
Tim W█████ ([personal profile] postictal) wrote in [community profile] rapturecity 2015-10-29 02:00 am (UTC)

A tremor runs the length of his spine, and Tim unconsciously curls his arms around himself, adopting the withdrawn position redolent of every night spent in a windowless hospital room. Maybe he's not making the best or strongest first impression, but with any luck, it won't matter. Maybe this guy won't even care. He sounds more grumpy than anything, probably wanting some kind of, what, payment for his less-than-helpful help?

He's trapped. He's trapped here, underwater, under fathoms and fathoms of - of dark, crushing water -

His head feels like it's floating, his breathing too shallow and too rapid. Tim shakes his head once, less in response to the implicit demand and more out of an effort to get his awareness to return to his skull.

"I don't," he shakes his head again, trying to clear it, "I don't have anything, I just -" He can't panic, not here. Not now. Not in front of some sneering drunk. "I just got here."

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