Alright, that's good. Keep telling me stuff. [Dixon racks his brain for dumb prompts, anything to give Sothe something to respond to. He also turns off the iPod, since tinny synthpop in the background is not helping.
He finds his footing again and pulls Sothe close and stands back up, feeling the pain from the knife and the long hike shoot down his back like a lightning bolt, the uncomfortable drip of blood down the back of his undershirt and pant leg. He winces and sways but doesn't falter. He holds Sothe a little tighter as if that could counteract Sothe's trembling.]
Tell me what it's like living in Nevada. You got desert, right?
[Please, please, please. Even more than the high level of importance most people would place on saving a sick teenager, Dixon pins everything now onto Sothe's survival. If Sothe were to slip under now Dixon might just lay down here and give up.]
no subject
He finds his footing again and pulls Sothe close and stands back up, feeling the pain from the knife and the long hike shoot down his back like a lightning bolt, the uncomfortable drip of blood down the back of his undershirt and pant leg. He winces and sways but doesn't falter. He holds Sothe a little tighter as if that could counteract Sothe's trembling.]
Tell me what it's like living in Nevada. You got desert, right?
[Please, please, please. Even more than the high level of importance most people would place on saving a sick teenager, Dixon pins everything now onto Sothe's survival. If Sothe were to slip under now Dixon might just lay down here and give up.]