The kitchen is a disaster area, as if some particularly nasty tornado had torn the room apart, or at least part of it. His hands and his feet have cuts, and there aren't many safe places to stand. But he was just--wasn't he just--?
Is that York? He has to swallow down the rising panic, the fear bubbling up, or try to at least when he turns to York. York who's on the floor against the wall and defensive, and hurt, and talking to him.
"Taylor?" His voice is quiet, questioning, urgent, while he flexes his fingers, brings them to his chest. All of a sudden afraid to move.
Day 222 - afternoon - action
The kitchen is a disaster area, as if some particularly nasty tornado had torn the room apart, or at least part of it. His hands and his feet have cuts, and there aren't many safe places to stand. But he was just--wasn't he just--?
Is that York? He has to swallow down the rising panic, the fear bubbling up, or try to at least when he turns to York. York who's on the floor against the wall and defensive, and hurt, and talking to him.
"Taylor?" His voice is quiet, questioning, urgent, while he flexes his fingers, brings them to his chest. All of a sudden afraid to move.