( He says, and though he sounds polite enough, he also doesn't sound that sorry. The whole concept is sketchy at first, he is well aware of this and is the exact wrong person to try and pitch it as anything but. If Kyle sticks around for any length of time, he'll learn something about Jack pretty quickly: Jack is an awful liar. Like, fucking terrible. He doesn't even bother trying, and when he does, the results are actually second-hand embarrassing.
Sugar-coating stuff is kind of like lying.
Anyway, he doesn't offer much else by way of reassurance once Kyle submits his hands. He just settles his own over them — surprisingly strong for such a skinny guy, palms calloused from manual labor, both of the 'working at a gas station' variety and of the 'spent too much time with a shovel digging huge holes' variety, complete with the unmistakable half-absence of a severed pinky finger. Sorry, Kyle. Hope none of that grosses you out. )
So, just... close your eyes, take deep breaths, and... think about wind chimes or something. It shouldn't take long.
( He takes his own advice — sort of. The closing his eyes part, anyway. He doesn't think about wind chimes, but rather allows himself to fall into the strange, instinctive feeling of gently tugging Kyle's mind along with him into a space that he's now well-versed in reaching himself.
It won't take long. Minutes at most, before they slip from their bodies and find themselves standing in Kyle's domain. )
no subject
( He says, and though he sounds polite enough, he also doesn't sound that sorry. The whole concept is sketchy at first, he is well aware of this and is the exact wrong person to try and pitch it as anything but. If Kyle sticks around for any length of time, he'll learn something about Jack pretty quickly: Jack is an awful liar. Like, fucking terrible. He doesn't even bother trying, and when he does, the results are actually second-hand embarrassing.
Sugar-coating stuff is kind of like lying.
Anyway, he doesn't offer much else by way of reassurance once Kyle submits his hands. He just settles his own over them — surprisingly strong for such a skinny guy, palms calloused from manual labor, both of the 'working at a gas station' variety and of the 'spent too much time with a shovel digging huge holes' variety, complete with the unmistakable half-absence of a severed pinky finger. Sorry, Kyle. Hope none of that grosses you out. )
So, just... close your eyes, take deep breaths, and... think about wind chimes or something. It shouldn't take long.
( He takes his own advice — sort of. The closing his eyes part, anyway. He doesn't think about wind chimes, but rather allows himself to fall into the strange, instinctive feeling of gently tugging Kyle's mind along with him into a space that he's now well-versed in reaching himself.
It won't take long. Minutes at most, before they slip from their bodies and find themselves standing in Kyle's domain. )