[Voice]

[faterecanted]

[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.)

Comments

[action]

[faterecanted]

[Without opening his eyes again, he lifts his hand up (his shaky, inky hand) and places it on her knee. His fingers twitch and spasm occasionally, little movements that travel all the way up his arm to his shoulder.]

Just my head. I'll recover from the rest. [Although the flatness of his tone suggests that he may not want to.]

[action]

[seleniahymn]

[Just from watching the movements of his fingers on her knee and listening to his tone tells her otherwise. While it's true that Van may be able to recover from these injuries, it could take a long time and make things that much more difficult. She doesn't know just yet how long she will be assisting him, after all.

Instead of stopping she applies another First Aid, carefully watching him for progress.]