[It's pretty telling that the someone else in the vicinity doesn't have anywhere near the presence he usually does... he's quiet and subdued, holding his now-bandaged arm against his chest as he just sort of sinks down into a seat.
He's not sure why he's out here, really. Maybe he needs a little fresh air, maybe he needs some space... he doesn't know. All he knows is that he's tired and filled with a level of self-hatred that would be distressing enough if it were coming from Phil rather than from his own emotions.]
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Week 2
Saturday
It seems every week is fated to end this way.
Still, she has some awareness even now, and she'll look over when she notices another in the vicinity - the lounge, as it were.]
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He's not sure why he's out here, really. Maybe he needs a little fresh air, maybe he needs some space... he doesn't know. All he knows is that he's tired and filled with a level of self-hatred that would be distressing enough if it were coming from Phil rather than from his own emotions.]
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...Were you able to get the wound cleaned out?
[Not that it stops her usual fretting.]
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[He's had much worse before and lived. Mirrites... were meant to be weapons, after all.]
Guess I kind of deserved it, though.
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Why would you say that?
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Marcus, you don't deserve to die in someone else's place.
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[Not that Phil has ever treated him as anything other than a companion and genuine friend, but... facts are facts.]
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[She tries to think back, but the first thing that comes to mind is:]
Without you, who will Phillip ask to screw in light bulbs?!