He peers closer, feeling relatively certain his features can't be seen yet, or they would be having a completely different conversation. Not running blood. Coagulated blood. It's slightly more reassuring than a fresh head wound. His mind must be playing games with him.
He needs to get out of here before the sun really puts him on the spot. "Right. Well, carry on, my brave little tin soldier. I'll just exit stage right, leave ya to it."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-12-18 11:19 am (UTC)He needs to get out of here before the sun really puts him on the spot. "Right. Well, carry on, my brave little tin soldier. I'll just exit stage right, leave ya to it."