( Shit, that's a good idea, actually. He hadn't gotten far enough removed from the near-death experience quite yet to think of it, but he should be able to do that no problem. He made, like, fifty of them for Kyle's boat mission party thing.
He sits back, closes his eyes. Concentrates, because for some reason it's not... coming quite as easily as it normally does?
His brow furrows. Sea salt stings his eyes. His brow furrows harder. Come on, what the fuck-
Oh, thank god. He can feel plastic in his hands, surely that means--
When he glances down, what he's holding is a half-deflated balloon animal, which he offers over to Kyle. It's a noodle dog. Sort of. )
...I think something might be wrong with me. Maybe it's- I don't know, performance anxiety? But something feels- off.
no subject
He sits back, closes his eyes. Concentrates, because for some reason it's not... coming quite as easily as it normally does?
His brow furrows. Sea salt stings his eyes. His brow furrows harder. Come on, what the fuck-
Oh, thank god. He can feel plastic in his hands, surely that means--
When he glances down, what he's holding is a half-deflated balloon animal, which he offers over to Kyle. It's a noodle dog. Sort of. )
...I think something might be wrong with me. Maybe it's- I don't know, performance anxiety? But something feels- off.