[ He manages to raise an equally stiff arm to take the compress, and promptly drops it on himself as his entire hand spasms. It’s frustrating, even more so when paired with Agathe’s admission of ignorance; he feels helpless, barely able to move, his mind unable to think more than one thought at a time. ]
I do, [ he agrees, because that is certainly true. That’s presumably why Pollock had drugged him in the first place, after all, and he makes a weak, miserable noise as he remembers. ] Too much, too many thoughts…
no subject
I do, [ he agrees, because that is certainly true. That’s presumably why Pollock had drugged him in the first place, after all, and he makes a weak, miserable noise as he remembers. ] Too much, too many thoughts…