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Detective Rustin Cohle (
2017-03-01 11:44 pm (UTC)
It's pretty easy to tune Graham back out again; Rust is so exhausted that tracers and minor hallucinations are beginning to occur. His gaze drifts when something floats up in the far right corner of his vision, up and away when he follows it. It's just enough to spike his heart rate, that element of surprise, by the time he's looking back down at the crude table in the center of the room he had been seated in before. He swallows down a tightness that wraps itself around his neck like a snake.
Detective Will Graham
sees himself out, and Rust is almost soothed by the notion of isolation. Once the door clicks shut, he moves to sit back down on the cool metal chair. Planting his elbows onto the scratched table top, Rust crushes the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing out the strain and the ache building up in his eye sockets. The exhaustion is settling in like trickling water through cracks in concrete -- but Rust knows sleep won't come easily, not especially since he has to figure out a way back to the meet up point after this is all done, and from
probably hit a cheap motel. It will probably be tomorrow by that point, and long past the opportunity for real sleep.
Rust leans up against the chair, lets his head hang back, eyes still closed against the fluorescent bulb above him casting its light down, so intense that it illuminates the thin skin pulled over his eyes into an orangey-red. Dark blue and green static threatens the bloody color of his eyelids.
He can hear the returning footsteps, lets his head swing forward again in attention and a pinch of curiosity, and it turns out to be Detective Graham -- returning with...a cup of water.
Which Rust stares at as if he were being offered a headless chicken, as the detective speaks. Almost dumbfounded, he reaches out and takes the cup, eyes flicking to Graham's face as soon as the drink is passed over. "I don't think he'd be the only one.
"'Sides, we can't have me wandering around before they process my dipshit other half." Dazed and eyes in the middle distance to his right, he takes a sip -- which, after a tentative moment, becomes a complete down-in-one. It might come as no surprise to anyone that Rust has become a little too good at withholding basic necessities from his body -- hydration or food being at the top of that list.
He exhales, eyes on the small cup as he sets it on the table. "...Thanks."
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