[ in these crevices, jayce has been alone for too long. he's been deprived of touch, company, everything he's been so accustomed to receiving even if it depleates his social battery from time to time. what jayce used to have was at least a bit of choice in when he needed the solitude of the forge, but being stripped completely from the world made him . . . skittish. wanting to swallow it before it could escape from his fingers like water. he shivers at touch, sweltering with fever, grips back perhaps with an uncomfortable tightness, because in his mind it's the first time in months someone solid has been around that wasn't a fever mirage, or a wall, a rock, a roach or other scurrying creature— ]
Food— I've been trying, trap the piximanders, but I— [ his hoarse voice, from screaming or not even using it much at all cracks. his throat snaps tight, and the strain makes his words quiver: ] I can't get up.
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Food— I've been trying, trap the piximanders, but I— [ his hoarse voice, from screaming or not even using it much at all cracks. his throat snaps tight, and the strain makes his words quiver: ] I can't get up.