Jason had not suggested restraints; this out of some peculiar and stupidly macho sense of.... perhaps respect, for Anakin Skywalker's presumed space monk training which, Jason thinks, has likely included pain endurance training and meditation and the like. Clearly the young man is no stranger to past trauma, if the arm alone is any indication.
He wonders if it was a mistake, that lack of restraints, as Anakin's lungs switch into overdrive, as his booted feet twitch and jerk on the table, but it seems that--
--and he's passed out. Jason frowns, abstractedly, as hot blood starts runneling from the little gash, down over the side of Anakin's face, into his hair, onto Jason's own hands. He frowns because, yes, no doubt it hurts, being cut never feels good, but--
But in the grand scheme of things, the cut is less than a centimeter long. It is bleeding profusely, which will need dealing with, but Jason is honestly surprised that it could make Skywalker actually pass out.
--well, he had better take advantage of this and finish the matter as quickly as possible, Jason supposes. He lets go Anakin's limp head (gingerly, easing it into stable position--). Press here, and tease with the blade's tip to coax the little disc--
White pain explodes across Jason's field of vision. It feels very much as though someone took a sledgehammer to his own little implant. Possibly also a railroad spike. The knife drops from his nerveless fingers to clatter on the table in the sticky growing pool of Anakin's blood.
Jason clutches at his own head on reflex, and that is the last thing he does for a while. Unless one counts actions such as toppling off the stool and slithering down, down, into a pile on the floor.
no subject
and stupidly machosense of.... perhaps respect, for Anakin Skywalker's presumed space monk training which, Jason thinks, has likely included pain endurance training and meditation and the like. Clearly the young man is no stranger to past trauma, if the arm alone is any indication.He wonders if it was a mistake, that lack of restraints, as Anakin's lungs switch into overdrive, as his booted feet twitch and jerk on the table, but it seems that--
--and he's passed out. Jason frowns, abstractedly, as hot blood starts runneling from the little gash, down over the side of Anakin's face, into his hair, onto Jason's own hands. He frowns because, yes, no doubt it hurts, being cut never feels good, but--
But in the grand scheme of things, the cut is less than a centimeter long. It is bleeding profusely, which will need dealing with, but Jason is honestly surprised that it could make Skywalker actually pass out.
--well, he had better take advantage of this and finish the matter as quickly as possible, Jason supposes. He lets go Anakin's limp head (gingerly, easing it into stable position--). Press here, and tease with the blade's tip to coax the little disc--
White pain explodes across Jason's field of vision. It feels very much as though someone took a sledgehammer to his own little implant. Possibly also a railroad spike. The knife drops from his nerveless fingers to clatter on the table in the sticky growing pool of Anakin's blood.
Jason clutches at his own head on reflex, and that is the last thing he does for a while. Unless one counts actions such as toppling off the stool and slithering down, down, into a pile on the floor.
Harry blinks.
"Uh... guys?"