[He scoffs, a sound that's derisive and disbelieving and desperate. Of all people to see him in the grip of a vision and decide they wouldn't leave well enough alone...]
What does it matter? Why do you care?
[It's practically spit out. His weapon is yanked up, practically slammed onto his back. Nerves are quickly twisting into anger, undeserved but lapping, like the flames he had become so comfortable with.]
no subject
What does it matter? Why do you care?
[It's practically spit out. His weapon is yanked up, practically slammed onto his back. Nerves are quickly twisting into anger, undeserved but lapping, like the flames he had become so comfortable with.]
I told you to get away from me. So leave.
[If they won't? He will.
To run. Like he always did.]