By the time Luka starts walking towards him, Garrot's already getting to an awkward sort of stand. But he watches Gyre make a beeline towards the dead Knights, no restraint, no recognition of their emotional states. Granted, he'd have done the same thing if he could walk in a straight line. But it makes his stomach drop, his ears droop, and a large, nearly comical frown form on his face.
If Garrot weren't fucking high right now, he might be right there with Gyre, screaming and frothing and raging. But he's high, he's holding back a grief-induced mental breakdown, he's pushing himself to his physical limits, and this? This?! It's threatening to topple the entire house of cards, to send him deep into shades of his past he thought were long dead. So he pushes off of those stairs as he dismisses them, giving Luka a gentle pat on the shoulder as he soldiers right on past. His uneven, wobbling steps land with deep thuds that broadcast his intent as he approaches the elf.
"I need you to take a deep breath, okay?" There's an even, neutral sort of serenity to his words, a stark departure from the laughing and jokes. A shuddering sigh rattles out from his throat as a hand slowly, delicately moves to roost on Gyre's shoulder. His hand's shaking, too. "For me? P-please."
He can't handle grief and rage right now. He won't.
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By the time Luka starts walking towards him, Garrot's already getting to an awkward sort of stand. But he watches Gyre make a beeline towards the dead Knights, no restraint, no recognition of their emotional states. Granted, he'd have done the same thing if he could walk in a straight line. But it makes his stomach drop, his ears droop, and a large, nearly comical frown form on his face.
If Garrot weren't fucking high right now, he might be right there with Gyre, screaming and frothing and raging. But he's high, he's holding back a grief-induced mental breakdown, he's pushing himself to his physical limits, and this? This?! It's threatening to topple the entire house of cards, to send him deep into shades of his past he thought were long dead. So he pushes off of those stairs as he dismisses them, giving Luka a gentle pat on the shoulder as he soldiers right on past. His uneven, wobbling steps land with deep thuds that broadcast his intent as he approaches the elf.
"I need you to take a deep breath, okay?" There's an even, neutral sort of serenity to his words, a stark departure from the laughing and jokes. A shuddering sigh rattles out from his throat as a hand slowly, delicately moves to roost on Gyre's shoulder. His hand's shaking, too. "For me? P-please."
He can't handle grief and rage right now. He won't.