[She's not wrong, but he's not going to hear it. He smacks his shield against a jutting rock, and the magic kicks in, his whole body and the weapon dimly shimmering. All of it peels away - the aches, the exhaustion, the shortness of breath - in an almost overwhelming relief. Between that and the unnatural, entirely-unearned combat skill the shield gives him, he's feeling even confident, or at least as much as he can be in the face of the mystical anxiety flooding all of them.
And without pain or physical limitations to hold it in, all of the frustration and shame and fear and confusion and hatefulness Dixon feels come to the surface and spill out. Where normally he gives off an aura of unbalance, even fragility, now it's just pure, focused anger.
This is his group and these haunted house punks are threatening it. His teenagers he feels responsible for and his animal friends and his allies who haven't found a way to leave him to die yet. The fear of losing that fragile, precious camaraderie sits like a knife in his gut, and with a twist he remembers Chief (he's always remembering Chief) and that anger flares up harder.
It wasn't fair to lose a good man, a beloved man, that way, and it wouldn't be fair to lose any of these people now.]
I'm fine, actually. [He knows she's been keeping an eye on him, appreciates it. He hasn't said anything, doesn't know what he could say, but he's grateful. That's why he gives her the briefest flicker of a grim smile.]
Let's fuck someone up. [He figures they both could use it.]
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And without pain or physical limitations to hold it in, all of the frustration and shame and fear and confusion and hatefulness Dixon feels come to the surface and spill out. Where normally he gives off an aura of unbalance, even fragility, now it's just pure, focused anger.
This is his group and these haunted house punks are threatening it. His teenagers he feels responsible for and his animal friends and his allies who haven't found a way to leave him to die yet. The fear of losing that fragile, precious camaraderie sits like a knife in his gut, and with a twist he remembers Chief (he's always remembering Chief) and that anger flares up harder.
It wasn't fair to lose a good man, a beloved man, that way, and it wouldn't be fair to lose any of these people now.]
I'm fine, actually. [He knows she's been keeping an eye on him, appreciates it. He hasn't said anything, doesn't know what he could say, but he's grateful. That's why he gives her the briefest flicker of a grim smile.]
Let's fuck someone up. [He figures they both could use it.]