I could be a real sicko, that's all. [Though he knows that this says more about this companion of his more than it does him, and he's one to ask these questions to learn what makes other people tick. He sounds distracted, though, tending to his nails, cleaning them, even grimacing when the too-sharp blade nicks lightly at a skin and leaves a hangnail. Annoying, he tears at it with his teeth, and because he's not using the blade on it, it starts to bleed just a little. As he does, he finds amusing how her impatience is palpable.
Sucking on the blood there, he hands her the knife.] Here, your turn. [He has nail clippings in his other fist, having gathered as he did this weird macho-version of a manicure (real men clean their cuticles). There are no heroics in his mind, just a pragmatic notion that there's no need to waste a toe or a finger when they could be of invaluable use in a hostile environment like this one obviously is.] Hurry up.
no subject
Sucking on the blood there, he hands her the knife.] Here, your turn. [He has nail clippings in his other fist, having gathered as he did this weird macho-version of a manicure (real men clean their cuticles). There are no heroics in his mind, just a pragmatic notion that there's no need to waste a toe or a finger when they could be of invaluable use in a hostile environment like this one obviously is.] Hurry up.