(relax? he doesn't want to, but the order forces his shoulders down, the tense in his stomach easing up. it makes him shudder, shake his head twice, and sit back on his haunches, expression pinched by stress gone and replaced by something impassive. with the back of his hand, he wipes his mouth. then he takes the bottle to drink.

slow, until it's gone.

a full cheek of it is swished to clean the leftover tissue from behind his teeth, spitting onto the roadside.)

What do you want? I can't repay you. (there's a reason why this person's helping him and hei's mind defaults to the worst of them — he's going to use him for something illicit, maybe deviant. tell him to follow him somewhere safe, promise him he'll help him. he did the same thing to people in south america, a too-skinny child begging for fake help and luring the fools who believed him into their camps.

he could play along, but he'd rather not.)

Doesn't matter if you're like me or like them, I have to follow your orders. Make the wrong ones and I'll show you why manipulating me was a mistake. Understand?