His lip curls slightly at the sight of her crowbar; that thing is probably a source of bioterrorism all on its own.
Chris looks about the same, though- weary and worn with dirty clothes that have been singed, ripped, bled through, and ground-in whatever filth he's rolled and crawled though. All in all, it looks like he's been through a typical day at work. And he shrugs about it. "Been okay." Pause. "I retired." Yeah, Chris, you fucking look retired.
He's beginning to shake himself loose of his weird, confused headspace and he waves her over, setting a pill bottle down somewhere in the space between them as an offering. Gentle painkillers, of course, because she looks like she might need them, but he's not sure how much more (if anything) she requires. It's too hard to tell what's her blood and what's not. "Do you need to be patched up?"
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Chris looks about the same, though- weary and worn with dirty clothes that have been singed, ripped, bled through, and ground-in whatever filth he's rolled and crawled though. All in all, it looks like he's been through a typical day at work. And he shrugs about it. "Been okay." Pause. "I retired." Yeah, Chris, you fucking look retired.
He's beginning to shake himself loose of his weird, confused headspace and he waves her over, setting a pill bottle down somewhere in the space between them as an offering. Gentle painkillers, of course, because she looks like she might need them, but he's not sure how much more (if anything) she requires. It's too hard to tell what's her blood and what's not. "Do you need to be patched up?"