[Voice]

[The first thing that appears in the journal is a big, thick ink smudge, sort of like it's been fingerpainted by large, clumsy hands -- because it has.]



[A few moments later, when it becomes clear it just isn't going to happen, Van speaks. His voice is a rough, dry croak. Either he hasn't spoken in weeks... or he's overused it to the point of ruin.]

Tear. ...Tear.

[A bit later still, when he realizes he's drifting off and he does not want to pass out--]

What day is it? [Not that the answer will mean anything to him, thrice-damned nonsense calendar.]


(OOC: Reluctant first aid reserved for Tear, but feel free to answer him. He'll talk, he just won't accept help from anyone else.)