[He can't actually see her to know what she's doing, but he can hear her, feel her physical presence to an extent, his other senses keying up in response to the loss of sight. A part of him hates that they're doing this. He's seeing Mary for the first time in months--'seeing.' There should be joy, there should be a kiss, there should be so much more. But instead, they're doing this, a familiar game of humiliation that she's always been understanding for, that she has never judged him for. John raises a hand to cover his face for a moment and takes a deep, shuddering breath as he fights down the panic, crushes it back into the darker recesses of his mind to be dealt with not now.]
No, of course you didn't. I know. I know. I'm sorry. Just give me a minute. I'll be fine in a minute.
[John, you weren't fine even before that. You really think I'm not going to notice?
Granted, it's very wishful thinking. He takes deep breaths, wrapping his other arm around his waist and digging his fingers into his coat. If he gets his breathing under control, he can get his heart under control. It's not perfect when he drops his hand away, but it's tolerable. Conversation is possible again, and there isn't the roar of blood in his ears.
When opens his eyes, there's a monstrous hound maybe 20 yards behind, it's body covered in glowing green eyes and its teeth like daggers.]
There's one that way. One of the creatures. It's the hound. A hound. Too many eyes. I can see the light in its mouth.
[They're either going to need to deal with that first (and quickly, as the thing is closing), or they're going to need to run. John knows what they need to do, but the thought of letting that thing anywhere near Mary...]
cw: PTSD
No, of course you didn't. I know. I know. I'm sorry. Just give me a minute. I'll be fine in a minute.
[John, you weren't fine even before that. You really think I'm not going to notice?
Granted, it's very wishful thinking. He takes deep breaths, wrapping his other arm around his waist and digging his fingers into his coat. If he gets his breathing under control, he can get his heart under control. It's not perfect when he drops his hand away, but it's tolerable. Conversation is possible again, and there isn't the roar of blood in his ears.
When opens his eyes, there's a monstrous hound maybe 20 yards behind, it's body covered in glowing green eyes and its teeth like daggers.]
There's one that way. One of the creatures. It's the hound. A hound. Too many eyes. I can see the light in its mouth.
[They're either going to need to deal with that first (and quickly, as the thing is closing), or they're going to need to run. John knows what they need to do, but the thought of letting that thing anywhere near Mary...]
We should run.