Snippet #1934845

Marx

"Honey," Seb grinned as he followed her, his knees shaking slightly as he started moving. The rock had not been nice to his noggin. "You're more paranoid than I am. Why do I give a flying..." he paused for a moment to avoid explicitly cursing in front of such a dainty lady. "If they know what I can do or not. I don't care what they know about my powers." It wasn't a lie, but not a complete truth either. One should play the apathetic. "In fact, it should make them avoid me, yes?" He was close to her shoulder now, and his hand ghosted over it as he leaned forward slightly. His head was spinning still, and the rivulet of blood was soaking into the collar of his shirt. "Because they know that I could throttle them with a twitch of my wrist." His voice was lower now, an almost growl that rumbled with amusement.

"And it's enough th-" the lithe figure paused in the middle of a word as a particularly brutal throb had set his world spinning gently. He grunted in discomfort, a hand raising up to press the bridge of his nose. He halted completely. Hopefully she'd keep walking. There wasn't anything he could really do to prevent the onset of this most distasteful weakness, but it would better if he didn't have an audience. Seb wasn't much of a performer. He swayed slightly, and his face had gone a few shades paler, making the blood stand out a more prominent red.

The sticky fingers of the pain were inching their way up his skull, threading through the rest of his brain in a way that was utterly difficult to ignore. And the vertigo wasn't helping any. Perhaps sitting down would relieve the dizziness. When the thought crossed his mind his body took immediate action on it, dropping him down to his knees. He was utterly in his own world now, he couldn't tell if whats-her-face was still there or if she'd left or what. The lack of food and sleep added to the stress of paranoia and the rock colliding with the base of his skull had mixed to create this ugly feeling of helplessness.

His fingers were clenching the roots of his hair now, knuckles white with the effort of keeping himself semi-composed, and his body was going cold with sweat. Really he felt likely to vomit, but he was trying his best not to. Mostly because there was nothing in his belly to expel, and doing away with his stomach acid wasn't a very nice sight. Seb refused to do that.

Instead, the usually cocky male groaned softly, the sound muffled by his wrists, which were pressing against his face. Dear god, he'd do anything to make the vertigo pain stop. It was throbbing in his head and his belly as one, and it was forcing him to sway back and forth like he was heavily stoned or at the top of a very high unstable building. This time he couldn't hold back the curse, and a string of them left his lips in nonsensical order.

This was not good. And to top it all off,the blood, which was beginning to dry, was smearing all over his face, making him look like a gory cadaver.

He couldn't decide whether he hoped Monsowa had stayed or left. it was too close to call.