[ He splutters, but the water does actually make his dried out scales feel a bit better. He sits up woozily, hair askew, as he rubs some of it down his face and onto his neck. He turns a slit eye up at Childe, studying him with disorientation. ]
I'm fine.
[ His throat is rough from smoking all night, which actually... He starts patting down his wet, wrinkled shirt in search of his pack of cigarettes. He finds them, crumpled and almost empty. He lights one in the space between them, head drooped wearily. ]
no subject
I'm fine.
[ His throat is rough from smoking all night, which actually... He starts patting down his wet, wrinkled shirt in search of his pack of cigarettes. He finds them, crumpled and almost empty. He lights one in the space between them, head drooped wearily. ]
Who are you?