He stared as the other him scrambled backwards a few yards, dimly wondering if he had been as jumpy as this one was when he was that age. Not that he'd ever dealt with spirits. Hell, he'd barely believed in the metaphysical at all, priesthood notwithstanding. And honestly, now that he thought back on it, the thought that there could have been the spirits of people who'd died lingering around him at any given time would have probably been a bit unsettling, yes, especially with his body count.
So hey. Fair play to the pipsqueak. Though he would give him credit for having the balls to bluster like that when he was obviously shitting his metaphorical pants.
Still, that got a sigh out of him again, because he really didn't want it to have to go that far. He should have walked away when he found himself staring at his own dumb mug having a temper tantrum in the middle of the desert.
"Well...I guess since you asked so nicely." It took a moment, and when the image of him finally coalesced into view, it was like looking at him through a mirage in the distance, only fainter. He gave a resigned little smirk and a sarcastic wave of his hand from where his elbow was resting on one knee. When he spoke again, the energy required to both speak and manifest himself made his voice softer, like he were speaking from a distance. "Would it be in poor taste if I said I'm dead serious? And you don't need to do any kicking, my head's already in December with the rest of me."
His focus was distracted for a moment, though, a thoughtful look crossing his face, and he started to waver out of focus, his voice trembling on the currents of air.
"I mean...it should be...last time I saw it." Which was, admittedly, decades ago, when he'd stood by, feeling numb and hollow as he watched Vash burying his body, grieving over him for what precious little time he had before the morning. "I don't know what it means that you're here, though. You'll have to kick your own head to be sure, I guess."
no subject
So hey. Fair play to the pipsqueak. Though he would give him credit for having the balls to bluster like that when he was obviously shitting his metaphorical pants.
Still, that got a sigh out of him again, because he really didn't want it to have to go that far. He should have walked away when he found himself staring at his own dumb mug having a temper tantrum in the middle of the desert.
"Well...I guess since you asked so nicely." It took a moment, and when the image of him finally coalesced into view, it was like looking at him through a mirage in the distance, only fainter. He gave a resigned little smirk and a sarcastic wave of his hand from where his elbow was resting on one knee. When he spoke again, the energy required to both speak and manifest himself made his voice softer, like he were speaking from a distance. "Would it be in poor taste if I said I'm dead serious? And you don't need to do any kicking, my head's already in December with the rest of me."
His focus was distracted for a moment, though, a thoughtful look crossing his face, and he started to waver out of focus, his voice trembling on the currents of air.
"I mean...it should be...last time I saw it." Which was, admittedly, decades ago, when he'd stood by, feeling numb and hollow as he watched Vash burying his body, grieving over him for what precious little time he had before the morning. "I don't know what it means that you're here, though. You'll have to kick your own head to be sure, I guess."