As far as ways to prove your you-ness go, freestyling limericks... is actually a pretty good one. And as far as ways to get to Arthur specifically, writing a poem about your dead friend is practically cheating.
Pardon him, he's just having an emotion.
He doesn't slide his phone out when Nobunaga finishes talking. Instead, he goes one better: there's the click of a lock disengaging, and then he cracks open the door. It's not open wide, and his face and body block the gap. There's still smears of blood from the door on his clothes, which by this point he's completely forgotten about, and he looks strained and harried as hell.
Going out on a limb and assuming Nobunaga doesn't attack him on sight, Arthur's shoulders relax a little.
"Just- just give me your number. I can put it in."
The keyboard is laid out like a typewriter's, and it has a setting that yells out the key he's about to press before he presses it, so. That's not as hard as it sounds.
"I- I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Better than-- than blind paranoia." A sickly sort of grin that quickly disappears. "There are only two possessions that I know of. One is a, a young man called Jeff, I don't know if you know him. He's... I-I hope he'll soon be in the brig."
Just. Not talking about Crichton right now. Not talking or thinking about the scorched, painful state of his body, or picturing that body returning to this cabin in the night. Not thinking about that, no no no.
no subject
Pardon him, he's just having an emotion.
He doesn't slide his phone out when Nobunaga finishes talking. Instead, he goes one better: there's the click of a lock disengaging, and then he cracks open the door. It's not open wide, and his face and body block the gap. There's still smears of blood from the door on his clothes, which by this point he's completely forgotten about, and he looks strained and harried as hell.
Going out on a limb and assuming Nobunaga doesn't attack him on sight, Arthur's shoulders relax a little.
"Just- just give me your number. I can put it in."
The keyboard is laid out like a typewriter's, and it has a setting that yells out the key he's about to press before he presses it, so. That's not as hard as it sounds.
"I- I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Better than-- than blind paranoia." A sickly sort of grin that quickly disappears. "There are only two possessions that I know of. One is a, a young man called Jeff, I don't know if you know him. He's... I-I hope he'll soon be in the brig."
Just. Not talking about Crichton right now. Not talking or thinking about the scorched, painful state of his body, or picturing that body returning to this cabin in the night. Not thinking about that, no no no.