[Caught in a fit of temper, Fugo first flinches. Before he turns around, his whole body is a snarl of tension; clenched jaw, bunched shoulders, fists at his side. One hand trembles with the effort to keep still-- he can't snap, can't shove the pot on the floor. Breathe, he tells himself, the bit of totally useless advice that everyone gives him, except he barely can. His lungs feel frozen. Keep it together. He turns slowly, face pale-- but still. And when he speaks, his voice is even and at least sounds calm.]
It's fine. It's just a spell gone wrong. I need to dispell it before it-- [Here, he can't keep himself from grimacing. He closes his eyes and takes as deep a breath as he can through his nose.] Goes worse. Don't come any closer.
[It's fine-- but don't come closer. There's a clear contradiction in his words, but he won't acknowledge it.]
no subject
It's fine. It's just a spell gone wrong. I need to dispell it before it-- [Here, he can't keep himself from grimacing. He closes his eyes and takes as deep a breath as he can through his nose.] Goes worse. Don't come any closer.
[It's fine-- but don't come closer. There's a clear contradiction in his words, but he won't acknowledge it.]