[ Watching John lower himself back onto the ground, Gen makes a note to himself somewhere at the very back of his mind -- if he dies, he's going to make sure to remember whatever it is he learns from that tree, just so he can rub it in John's face and refuse to tell him. He's definitely going to remember this.
Though it's probably a good thing he's squirreled away the thought somewhere so hidden. Because otherwise, the fear and tension of what follows probably would have ejected it straight from his mind.
Gen plays strong because of course he does. Showing weakness is something that simply wasn't permitted to him, no matter the circumstances. So he grits his teeth and maintains a fierce glare even as that bone spike hovers above him, dominating his field of vision as the shadow it casts roaming idly over his features. John's each and every obnoxious, insufferable word rings in his ears, somehow audible with painful clarity even past the steadily-quickening huffs of his own breathes and the thundering of his pulse. And honestly, with the way John orchestrates the steady buildup of tension, it's almost a relief when those spikes finally find their mark.
The sudden assault on his legs catches him off-guard, of course. Gen screams as those spikes find their marks, jerking and twisting against those painful restraints. But just as quick, he fights to contain that noise -- clenching his jaw, swallowing it back, instead breathing in jagged huffs past gritted teeth. His eyes might be watering, but he tries to blink it back. Opens his mouth, catches himself when a pained noise begins to emerge, and instead forced a guttural laugh. ]
-- f ... fuck you.
[ Of course. He laughs again, but it's breathless and cracking from the strain. ]
You think you're so cool just 'cause you can hurt me? Nothing's ... nothing's gonna undo the fact that you let someone like me affect where you ended up. [ One more wheezing laugh. ] You've got no fucking clue what you're doin'. An' you're just taking it out on me.
[ He can't stop shaking, for some reason. Is it the pain or the stress or the bloodloss that's starting to make him feel lightheaded? Surely, some combination of all three. Though that last one -- the bloodloss -- does have him forcing one last laugh, the noise manic and reedy from the effort of playing strong. ]
'Not gonna kill me,' my ass. H-how much longer do you think I'm gonna last like this? [ Maybe a few minutes, with how much he's bleeding. Surely, if he can hold one for just a few more minutes, he'll dissipate. It would be a lie to say he's not scared of it, but the sheer spite of going against John's proclaimed plans is motivation enough to hold on just a little longer. ] Or what, you gonna pretend it was your plan all along?
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Though it's probably a good thing he's squirreled away the thought somewhere so hidden. Because otherwise, the fear and tension of what follows probably would have ejected it straight from his mind.
Gen plays strong because of course he does. Showing weakness is something that simply wasn't permitted to him, no matter the circumstances. So he grits his teeth and maintains a fierce glare even as that bone spike hovers above him, dominating his field of vision as the shadow it casts roaming idly over his features. John's each and every obnoxious, insufferable word rings in his ears, somehow audible with painful clarity even past the steadily-quickening huffs of his own breathes and the thundering of his pulse. And honestly, with the way John orchestrates the steady buildup of tension, it's almost a relief when those spikes finally find their mark.
The sudden assault on his legs catches him off-guard, of course. Gen screams as those spikes find their marks, jerking and twisting against those painful restraints. But just as quick, he fights to contain that noise -- clenching his jaw, swallowing it back, instead breathing in jagged huffs past gritted teeth. His eyes might be watering, but he tries to blink it back. Opens his mouth, catches himself when a pained noise begins to emerge, and instead forced a guttural laugh. ]
-- f ... fuck you.
[ Of course. He laughs again, but it's breathless and cracking from the strain. ]
You think you're so cool just 'cause you can hurt me? Nothing's ... nothing's gonna undo the fact that you let someone like me affect where you ended up. [ One more wheezing laugh. ] You've got no fucking clue what you're doin'. An' you're just taking it out on me.
[ He can't stop shaking, for some reason. Is it the pain or the stress or the bloodloss that's starting to make him feel lightheaded? Surely, some combination of all three. Though that last one -- the bloodloss -- does have him forcing one last laugh, the noise manic and reedy from the effort of playing strong. ]
'Not gonna kill me,' my ass. H-how much longer do you think I'm gonna last like this? [ Maybe a few minutes, with how much he's bleeding. Surely, if he can hold one for just a few more minutes, he'll dissipate. It would be a lie to say he's not scared of it, but the sheer spite of going against John's proclaimed plans is motivation enough to hold on just a little longer. ] Or what, you gonna pretend it was your plan all along?