Of course. [ Booker's accent is thick, but the words are very, very dry; easy enough to get the gist of how very done he's feeling anyway.
He lets the last of the wound close, wincing as his skin stitches together on its own accord, and then he breathes out. It would have been a truly idiotic way to die his final death, especially knowing as little as he does about the thing that tore him up and tried to make its escape, so he's relieved about that at least. But the rest of him feels tired and a little resigned. What a curse to be brought back again. ]
You could shoot me but we both know there's no use in it.
[ It will hurt when he wakes up again, but he will wake up again, and he's going to be rather pissed off.
Merde. ]
May I at least sit up while you point that thing at me?
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He lets the last of the wound close, wincing as his skin stitches together on its own accord, and then he breathes out. It would have been a truly idiotic way to die his final death, especially knowing as little as he does about the thing that tore him up and tried to make its escape, so he's relieved about that at least. But the rest of him feels tired and a little resigned. What a curse to be brought back again. ]
You could shoot me but we both know there's no use in it.
[ It will hurt when he wakes up again, but he will wake up again, and he's going to be rather pissed off.
Merde. ]
May I at least sit up while you point that thing at me?