(PERCEPTION: Fuck yes, that’s breakfast. It’s a miracle. Kim’s a miracle. Smell that? It’s a miracle.)
Harry stretches his jaw again, as if he’s making sure it’s still working. The whole time he eyes the toast with a comically predatory expression that quickly turns much softer, into mush. Like it may slide off his face entirely and land on his feet.
(INLAND EMPIRE: When was the last time someone cooked for you. At home? You don’t remember. Look at it. The set table, the morning sunlight. Look at it. You’re in a kitchen. In a home.)
(EMPATHY: Oh. Do *not* make this weird. He won’t appreciate it.)
(INLAND EMPIRE: “Eat up shitkid, we’re already late.” You don’t know how Jean manages these things. Like having a job *and* going grocery shopping *and* not drinking before 4pm. You also didn’t know when the world was going to end, but back then you figured 30 years.)
[I’m trying really hard to be normal right now.]
(ENDURANCE: You’re suffering from hyperhidrosis, please do not cry out what precious water remains in your body.)
[That sounds really bad! And now I feel like I’m under even more pressure here.]
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: It’s a natural part of alcohol withdrawal. It’s why you’ve spent the last few days sweating and freezing all over the place. You know this because you’ve done this before. It’s also why you want to unhinge your jaw and shove everything, plate included down your throat at once. Your body is no longer receiving sugars from its primary source.)
[Ok, but how do I not cry?] (COMPOSURE: Just eat. You can do this.)
(VOLITION: Kim said jobs. Tasks! You love those. Think about those tasks. Crossing them off the list one by one.)
To Harry’s credit it he gets a few bites of toast in before the waterworks start but he’s got this shit locked down. It’s quiet, watery, and only very minorly pathetic on the grand scale of Times He’s Cried In Recent Memory. He’s been bursting into tears all week, his recovery time is going to be the stuff of records soon. Best crier. He's going for the title.
He just needs a second. It’s fine. He wipes at his eyes and squints at Kim, trying to get a read on just how much he’s slept.
(EMPATHY: Not much. Not well.)
“I slept uh…I think I slept. Yeah I definitely slept. It was fine.” He sniffs mildly. “So uh, right. Tasks. I was gonna take a jog around the neighborhood, see what’s what. I can do some things while I’m out.”
(EMPATHY: He’s not ready to talk about the pamphlets or the creatures you met yesterday. Read up as much as you like, but on your own.)
no subject
Harry stretches his jaw again, as if he’s making sure it’s still working. The whole time he eyes the toast with a comically predatory expression that quickly turns much softer, into mush. Like it may slide off his face entirely and land on his feet.
(INLAND EMPIRE: When was the last time someone cooked for you. At home? You don’t remember. Look at it. The set table, the morning sunlight. Look at it. You’re in a kitchen. In a home.)
(EMPATHY: Oh. Do *not* make this weird. He won’t appreciate it.)
(INLAND EMPIRE: “Eat up shitkid, we’re already late.” You don’t know how Jean manages these things. Like having a job *and* going grocery shopping *and* not drinking before 4pm. You also didn’t know when the world was going to end, but back then you figured 30 years.)
[I’m trying really hard to be normal right now.]
(ENDURANCE: You’re suffering from hyperhidrosis, please do not cry out what precious water remains in your body.)
[That sounds really bad! And now I feel like I’m under even more pressure here.]
(ENCYCLOPEDIA: It’s a natural part of alcohol withdrawal. It’s why you’ve spent the last few days sweating and freezing all over the place. You know this because you’ve done this before. It’s also why you want to unhinge your jaw and shove everything, plate included down your throat at once. Your body is no longer receiving sugars from its primary source.)
[Ok, but how do I not cry?]
(COMPOSURE: Just eat. You can do this.)
(VOLITION: Kim said jobs. Tasks! You love those. Think about those tasks. Crossing them off the list one by one.)
To Harry’s credit it he gets a few bites of toast in before the waterworks start but he’s got this shit locked down. It’s quiet, watery, and only very minorly pathetic on the grand scale of Times He’s Cried In Recent Memory. He’s been bursting into tears all week, his recovery time is going to be the stuff of records soon. Best crier. He's going for the title.
He just needs a second. It’s fine. He wipes at his eyes and squints at Kim, trying to get a read on just how much he’s slept.
(EMPATHY: Not much. Not well.)
“I slept uh…I think I slept. Yeah I definitely slept. It was fine.” He sniffs mildly. “So uh, right. Tasks. I was gonna take a jog around the neighborhood, see what’s what. I can do some things while I’m out.”
(EMPATHY: He’s not ready to talk about the pamphlets or the creatures you met yesterday. Read up as much as you like, but on your own.)
“…Kim, are we still cops?”