[Dixon doesn't get up and go anywhere; part of it's that he's still making sure Shuichi is okay (Shuichi's response is the least convincing Dixon's ever heard, and he used to bust pre-teens for skateboarding on public property, so that's saying a lot); part it's that now that he's sitting, he doesn't particularly want to stand for a few moments so he can steel himself against the pain that standing up with this stupid knifewound will cause.
The look he gives Shuichi is pure concern. He's concerned for Shuichi, and he's worried for himself, what he's going to do if his slow response to the danger and inability to protect the teenagers has had long-term consequences. He's worried about them and he's concerned that he, too, is on some kind of emotional chopping block, waiting for the hatchet of actual consequences to come down.]
That's what I been telling everyone about me all day. [He pulls out his pack of cigarettes but doesn't take one out. He's trying to stretch this one after the living hell that was the first week without nicotine. He just taps it against his palm in a meditative fidget.]
He got you pretty bad, though. You went down like a sack of potatoes. Glad you're conscience and stuff.
no subject
The look he gives Shuichi is pure concern. He's concerned for Shuichi, and he's worried for himself, what he's going to do if his slow response to the danger and inability to protect the teenagers has had long-term consequences. He's worried about them and he's concerned that he, too, is on some kind of emotional chopping block, waiting for the hatchet of actual consequences to come down.]
That's what I been telling everyone about me all day. [He pulls out his pack of cigarettes but doesn't take one out. He's trying to stretch this one after the living hell that was the first week without nicotine. He just taps it against his palm in a meditative fidget.]
He got you pretty bad, though. You went down like a sack of potatoes. Glad you're conscience and stuff.