They're the best I've tasted, seriously... thanks again. (the last lie to top the lot of them, nodding to the stall owner who seems thrilled they're ordering more despite the twenty "tak" has already ingested.
hei struggles, however, to accept the orders in his mind. it's true that stopping, standing, and puking on the side of the road sounds like something he sorely needs. it's also true that this stranger seems to be too familiar with his state, his mandatory compliances, and how to take advantage of that. his body doesn't see the problem, betraying his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the picnic table, standing the moment noctis murmurs his aside.
damnit.
fingers find and scrape at the curb, spewing what's in his mouth up — far more follows it out.
his entire body heaving inches forward to empty what's poisoning his stomach, leaving him spitting at thick drool that beads from his lip, trembling under the palm that settles lightly on the back of his white tunic. everything else is chewable, hei can accept the fact that he's at the beck and call of someone he's never met, ready to spring free and duck away the second he screws up a demand. what makes him sicker, makes him grit his teeth and speak through them in a voice that drops far lower than the stammering one used at the table, is the hand.)
Don't touch me. (it'd be menacing if not for the fact that it wobbles out of him, choked by exhaustion.
vomiting takes effort and energy and he has neither.)
no subject
hei struggles, however, to accept the orders in his mind. it's true that stopping, standing, and puking on the side of the road sounds like something he sorely needs. it's also true that this stranger seems to be too familiar with his state, his mandatory compliances, and how to take advantage of that. his body doesn't see the problem, betraying his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the picnic table, standing the moment noctis murmurs his aside.
damnit.
fingers find and scrape at the curb, spewing what's in his mouth up — far more follows it out.
his entire body heaving inches forward to empty what's poisoning his stomach, leaving him spitting at thick drool that beads from his lip, trembling under the palm that settles lightly on the back of his white tunic. everything else is chewable, hei can accept the fact that he's at the beck and call of someone he's never met, ready to spring free and duck away the second he screws up a demand. what makes him sicker, makes him grit his teeth and speak through them in a voice that drops far lower than the stammering one used at the table, is the hand.)
Don't touch me. (it'd be menacing if not for the fact that it wobbles out of him, choked by exhaustion.
vomiting takes effort and energy and he has neither.)
Pay and walk away.