What on Earth did that mean, 'likes to text'? A clever new way of referring to a career in writing?
If that's the least of his worries, though, he's doing well for today. As it is, his mind is reeling, in large and dizzying circles at first, but then into webs and tangles and, oh, the sitting was a good idea, though his is likely for another reason, and he slides slowly down the grav bed and then onto the floor. His legs cross, his expression darkens, and he carefully rests his forearms onto his knees, his thumb and forefinger into a thoughtful 'o'. Meditation, almost. It would be, if he could clear any of his mind.
There's a pocket of it, terrible and dark and churning that he can't quite seem to shake just yet, one that thinks of surgical twins and copied personalities, and though he shakes it almost immediately (different statures, on account of John Watson, and different heights; improbable), there's this absolutely psychotic part of him that clings to it like a death wish.
Listens to a certain Dr -- Mr? -- Watson. Riddles. My mind rebels. His nose wrinkles. "I refuse it," he says after a long pause, though it's not the craziest thing he's heard today, but merely the thought of there being two of him is something just utterly and absolutely beyond his realm of recognition. "You're an attentive girl; approximate height and weight, please. Of the alleged 'twin'."
no subject
If that's the least of his worries, though, he's doing well for today. As it is, his mind is reeling, in large and dizzying circles at first, but then into webs and tangles and, oh, the sitting was a good idea, though his is likely for another reason, and he slides slowly down the grav bed and then onto the floor. His legs cross, his expression darkens, and he carefully rests his forearms onto his knees, his thumb and forefinger into a thoughtful 'o'. Meditation, almost. It would be, if he could clear any of his mind.
There's a pocket of it, terrible and dark and churning that he can't quite seem to shake just yet, one that thinks of surgical twins and copied personalities, and though he shakes it almost immediately (different statures, on account of John Watson, and different heights; improbable), there's this absolutely psychotic part of him that clings to it like a death wish.
Listens to a certain Dr -- Mr? -- Watson. Riddles. My mind rebels. His nose wrinkles. "I refuse it," he says after a long pause, though it's not the craziest thing he's heard today, but merely the thought of there being two of him is something just utterly and absolutely beyond his realm of recognition. "You're an attentive girl; approximate height and weight, please. Of the alleged 'twin'."