[Holy shit. This might get violent. Neffa feels, for a second, like the ground is really, really far away. He steadies himself one-handed on the table beside him.
He wants to throw all his weight against the desk and stop Dixon moving it. Are you fucking crazy?! Why would you go back out there?!, he wants to yell.
...Gods, they don’t have a choice, do they?
Neffa takes a shuddering breath.] —Wait! Wait.
[He crosses the room and grabs... the stapler. It is, to him, the only other weapon in evidence. He holds it like he saw Dixon hold it, tight in his fist like brass knuckles. He considers the conduits at his belt; selects one; slowly brings it and the stapler together; and whispers to them for a few seconds. There’s a brief flash of light in the conduit’s carvings, and then a soft yellow light flares gently from within the stapler, where the staple refills would sit.
Neffa returns to Dixon at the door. His face is ashen.]
...Okay, [he says.] I— tell me when to— to throw it like you did. When you need a distraction. And— [He hesitates, then proffers his free hand, palm up.] Look. If you— do you swear to release me from your debt, in the event that you should die in this endeavor? Or, uh— is there— is there family I should contact, to take over the contract if it... goes badly.....?
[He trails off. Just saying it aloud is making him feel nauseous. And he’s not even talking about his death.]
no subject
[Holy shit. This might get violent. Neffa feels, for a second, like the ground is really, really far away. He steadies himself one-handed on the table beside him.
He wants to throw all his weight against the desk and stop Dixon moving it. Are you fucking crazy?! Why would you go back out there?!, he wants to yell.
...Gods, they don’t have a choice, do they?
Neffa takes a shuddering breath.] —Wait! Wait.
[He crosses the room and grabs... the stapler. It is, to him, the only other weapon in evidence. He holds it like he saw Dixon hold it, tight in his fist like brass knuckles. He considers the conduits at his belt; selects one; slowly brings it and the stapler together; and whispers to them for a few seconds. There’s a brief flash of light in the conduit’s carvings, and then a soft yellow light flares gently from within the stapler, where the staple refills would sit.
Neffa returns to Dixon at the door. His face is ashen.]
...Okay, [he says.] I— tell me when to— to throw it like you did. When you need a distraction. And— [He hesitates, then proffers his free hand, palm up.] Look. If you— do you swear to release me from your debt, in the event that you should die in this endeavor? Or, uh— is there— is there family I should contact, to take over the contract if it... goes badly.....?
[He trails off. Just saying it aloud is making him feel nauseous. And he’s not even talking about his death.]