[ The arena had been... bad, but survivable. But as the rush of adrenaline slowly seeps away, the weight of... everything simply crowds back in. Maelle, screaming, sobbing. The white-haired man with that strange tilt to his mouth that had looked almost like regret. The sound of his own breath, weirdly hollow, rushing like the sea wind into that lonely cave.
He looks up from flexing the fingers on his left hand, trying to ascertain the extent of the damage, to focus through the pain and exhaustion. ]
What?
[ The question registers after a moment, and he shakes his head, looks down at his hand again, slowly curling his fingers into a fist and shaking them back out again. ]
It was damaged. I'll need to, to repair it.
[ Merde, does he have his tools, does he have anything? He feels the weight of his pack on his back, but has no idea what might be in it.
He shakes his head again, like a dog trying to get rid of some annoying buzzing insect, and grimaces at himself, then looks back at the newcomer. ]
no subject
He looks up from flexing the fingers on his left hand, trying to ascertain the extent of the damage, to focus through the pain and exhaustion. ]
What?
[ The question registers after a moment, and he shakes his head, looks down at his hand again, slowly curling his fingers into a fist and shaking them back out again. ]
It was damaged. I'll need to, to repair it.
[ Merde, does he have his tools, does he have anything? He feels the weight of his pack on his back, but has no idea what might be in it.
He shakes his head again, like a dog trying to get rid of some annoying buzzing insect, and grimaces at himself, then looks back at the newcomer. ]
Sorry, you are...?