Your Face.... It Sucks--*

[rawr]

It wasn't exactly a good day for Martin. Course, it never really was anymore. He'd wake up, eat breakfast, get dressed, then go to the hell that was highschool. Cliques were so cliche, eh? So, of course, he had chosen today to run off to his hiding place, his hoodlum home. No one ever even /used/ the old Science Lab anymore. It was too outdated, or some lame excuse or another. It was just a storage room, now. Nothing of importance, nothing that would have a constant flow of traffic. It was a perfect hide-away for him. He could squirrel away there with a booze or two and call in sick every other month or so, for just about the entire day. But this privilage was reserved for the days that his nerves were really grinding on a bunch of sharp rocks. And that took a lot for Martin. Quite a bit.

He yawned, stretching out his legs and arm, and rubbed at his sore bum, regretting not bringing a pillow to the Storage Room in the previous times he had visited. Course, he never knew when he was coming to his hiding place until he got to school and scoped out the forecast of moods. He was the weather man, in a sense. He knew when one clique had it out for another, or when the Drama Club was pissed at the Newspaper Kids. It was a talent he had stumbled upon ever since he came to this school, and he was glad for it. Otherwise he would have committed suicide or something retarded like that. This highschool was a pain in his ass, just like the cold tile floor that he was sitting on, criss-cross-apple-sauce.

He took a sip of Heinekin, reveling in the bitter twang that erupted in his mouth. So what if it was illegal? It was worth it, and no teacher in their right mind would leave their entire class unsupervised, if even for a second. Well, that was one upside of the crowd here... They kept the teachers busy, which totally helped him out when he desperately needed a drink or two. He curled up once more, shoving his drink inbetween two cardboard boxes, just as a precaution, and scimming over the lines and lines upon lines in his book. Erin Hunter had been a pure genius, writing about talking cats. He was mystified by the pages he read, feeling true joy or epic sadness or such rage, and all over characters that didn't exist, and that he would never meet. But they were such an interesting cast, and he couldn't help but get sucked into the entire thing. He was in the 3rd book into the first leg of the series, and he had some serious catching up to do, having not picked up a Warriors book in 3 to 4 years, tops.

But then came the screech of sirens, and he was caught flabberghasted. What, exactly, was happening? This didn't seem like a Fire drill to him, and then came the crackly, unnerving voice of a man on the speakerphone. Someone he didn't know and didn't want to trust.

"THIS IS A CODE RED. WE REPEAT, THIS IS A CODE RED. EVERYONE MUST REMAIN IN THE ROOM THEY ARE IN UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. TEACHERS, YOU MUST LOCK YOUR DOORS. AND DO NOT OPEN THEM FOR ANYONE. I REPEAT, REMAIN IN THE ROOM YOU ARE IN, AND DO NOT OPEN UP FOR ANYONE. AGAIN, THIS IS A CODE RED. CODE RED.”


"Oh, /hell/ no!" He spat, feeling the rebellion bubbling up in him. If he really wanted to, he could walk out that door, /right/ now, and not get in trouble, because everyone was cowering in the pitch-black class rooms. Of course, there came the problem of being mistaken for whoever or whatever was out there. Or for all he knew, a student had gone psycho and brought a gun to school. Which wasn't unlikely, if he really thought about it. So, he decided against it, marking his page and shoving his book behind the cardboard boxes, along with all his other stuff. He would have to live without it. Scurrying over to the windows as manly as he possible could while being scared for his life, he opened the blinds a tad, and looked out, keen eye sweeping over the landscape around the school. It was pretty much empty, and he didn't see any large puddles of sickly red liquid, or anything else alarming in that way.

Was this some sort of joke, he wondered, crawling back over to hid original spot behind the 3rd counter in a row of 7. Right smack dab in the middle, where it would be safest. His mind went on a blank as he sat and waited, totally forgetting to lock the door. Surely no one was still out in the halls, surely no one would duck into the closest door like a retard? That would have them ending up in some tiny-ass closet, if they're karma had anything to say to it.

And right about then, Martin's Karma was coming to bite his ass so hard it would hurt for a good long time.

[BRANDON JOHNSON]

"THIS IS A CODE RED. WE REPEAT, THIS IS A CODE RED. EVERYONE MUST REMAIN IN THE ROOM THEY ARE IN UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. TEACHERS, YOU MUST LOCK YOUR DOORS. AND DO NOT OPEN THEM FOR ANYONE. I REPEAT, REMAIN IN THE ROOM YOU ARE IN, AND DO NOT OPEN UP FOR ANYONE. AGAIN, THIS IS A CODE RED. CODE RED.”

Brandon set down his Paramecium and raised an eyebrow. Code red? Whatever did that mean? Lock your doors? What utter codswallop! Twas a prestigious private academy in which he was situated, not a “hood”, or whatever it was that those silly duffer lads were calling it these days.

“I suppose we should door our lock,” said Brandon aloud, though he wasn’t quite clear on who was in this room with him. “T’would be a dreadful shame if someone were to reprimanded. Combat isn’t exactly my tea of cup.”

“Erm, pardon me, good sir,” he addressed a stern looking lad who seemed to be seated serenely at one of the tables. “Do forgive me for my ignorance, but would it be too much of a bother to explain what a ‘code red’ is? I’m quite new at this institution, you see, and I just think it would be awfully drab, were there something going on here of which I wasn’t aware.”

Having opinioned his express, Brandon turned back to his paramecium. No use getting caught up in irrelevant matters, eh? He replaced his safety goggles over his eyes and tweely slipped his forefingers into the gaps between the tweezers, gingerly seizing another specimen and dropping it into the Petri dish, leaning in to examine the organism. Brandon wasn’t one for science per se, but this business with large single-organismed cells was interesting. All very posh, but still, rather lovely.

[luck]

She'd spent half of the night dancing away. It wasn't exactly a bad decisions, she made double what she should have. But that also meant that Beverly worked until five in the morning, fell asleep on the floor as soon as she walked into the door. She was still in her sparkly and clad uniform when she woke up from shear uncomfortableness. How did this happen? She always managed to seperate school and work, and now they were going to horribley colide.

Beverly quickly grabbed a easy-to-button shirt and tan skirt, grabbing her jacket and completely and luckily done homework before sprinting out into the cold of the outside. Her jacket was barely on when she was outside. Somehow, the skirt had managed to get on her body, but the blouse was still in a clump on top of her books. The cold pricked tears at her eyes, the overdose of making making her blink and wipe some sparkles off.

She tried not to think as she dived into the school, flung off her jacket and tried to button up her shirt. It didn't work all too well. Rushing and buttons never does.

Beverly stopped dead in her tracks. Something was wrong. No one had run into, tripped her. There was no crowd to wade through.

"THIS IS A CODE RED. WE REPEAT, THIS IS A CODE RED..."

Everything sort of spaced out after that. Raw terror and instincts blocked out the fear of being known as a stripper and she hawled the nearest door open and landed inside on her knees. It was dark. She couldn't see much...

Weren't all doors supposed to be locked during a Code Red?

Taking deep breathes, Beverly undid her blouse again. The sequins on her top sent shines through the dully lit room, and she blushed just thinking about it. Slowly this time, she buttoned the shirt up, but not all the way. A form was lurking by the window, then at the desk. Her eyes furiously tried to adjust. It didn't work. She spent all of her nights in a dully lit room dancing around a pole and she couldn't see two possible crazed murderers?

Leaving her shirt as is (with her...priviliges hanging out in theu nbuttoned shirt. They were mostly covered by the stripper top, though), Beverly slid her self into a darker corner, praying to God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit to let the two blobs be chairs. Where were her roseries when she needed them?

[rawr]

Ai, his hide away had been invaded! If he had been a cat, he would have seriously been bristling. Like if he was one of the characters in the book he had just been reading, and for a moment his minds eye painted just as such a scene before him. But, before he knew what was happening, it flashed to everyone wearing some crappy mid-evil clothes. There came the flurry of a wind from far off, and the dust that lay on the crowded road flew about, stinging at his eyes and causing them to water. He blinked once, twice, three times, and gave off a bewildered grunt of sheer confusion and shock. He stood up even more, to face the two who had entered moments before. His back was to the windows, and the glare of the sun that filtered through the shades seemed to warm his back, calming so that he wouldn't be in a full-out rage. Thank you, mother nature!

His eyes squinted as he noticed the little dazzle of sequins. Oh, for the love of god, was this one of those prissy chicks? What had she done, spilt her makeup bag? Course, there could easily be a guy from the Drama Club with a costume, for all he knew. Though, if he tried his hardest, the other person's body looked more like a woman's.... And when she turned to the side, her untouchables seemed to show in the light. What did we have here, a sicko looking for attention? But, he was distracted as some foreigner spoke, in his funny old accent. Marty could barely understand the guy, his English was so skewered.

"Hey, buddy, once you learn to talk proper English, come to me. Otherwise, you Brits and your retarded little crumpets and cups of tea can leave me alone." He spat, recognizing the accent as such. Though, he would have said any accent from over East would have been British. But, like, whatever. That was no concern of his. He slid towards the girl, making out more and more about her as he grew closer and closer. Heh, yup, she had totally /not/ buttoned the top of her shirt, the nasty little skank. What was she trying to do, skewer a guy with those things? Luckily for Martin, he had no attraction to females, and he was feeling gratitude towards his choice in orientation right about now.

"Hey, chicky, you mind putting those away? If I had been a teacher, you would have been totally screwed, you know that? And, like, what sort of sick, twisted way is that for practically /begging/ for attention. Do you need professional help?" He asked, trying his hardest to hold back a sneer. He couldn't help but regret his words. What if he had gotten wrong, and she had just gotten epicly raped by some mad man... That would explain why the school was in Lockdown, hehe.

Ah, he decided. He could care less, right about now.

[BRANDON JOHNSON]

The sight of the girl’s knockers reflected off the brilliant light of the bare light bulb on the ceiling was strangely gratifying, a thought that Brandon couldn’t help but allow to slip through his mind as he drew back. Metaphorically, in any instance. Brandon raised a hand to interject, but was interrupted by the strange American.

"Hey, buddy, once you learn to talk proper English, come to me. Otherwise, you Brits and your retarded little crumpets and cups of tea can leave me alone."

Brandon raised an eyebrow. Utterly mad, this bloke was. It reminded Brandon of a day, long before this American madness, when he’d spoken with the Old Man of the Valley, a jolly chap surely, if not completely mental. ‘Bob’s your uncle,’ the man had said, fingers twirling a gleaming cherry cane over and over in his hands like tiny ballerinas, pirouetting with the grain of the wood. Ah, days had been the those, the days of cool grass tickling bare feet in the heavy humidity of the summer evening, the occasional breeze like a warm massage upon the cheekbones, warm nights of raging firecrackers in the far distant sky, like snare drums upon the ears, the magnificent sunrise, colors as vibrant as the crown of the radiant Queen, God bless her.

But twasn’t the time, no, twasn’t the time to wallow in such thoughts. He turned back towards the strange boy, with short-ish blonde hair and blue eyes that pierced through the skin like a fork spears cake of piece. Remembering the words that’d been spoken not but a moment before, Brandon almost guffawed. “Proper English?” he asked, a steely grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Proper English? And you believe that your English is proper, do you? Well I’ll have you know, young sir, that a proper English gentleman does not use the word ‘retarded.’ Especially when one is apt to whinge his or her gob off about teas of cup and crumpets.”

Brandon licked his lips. Mmmmm, but it had been eons since he’d tasted one of the divine British creations known only as crumpets. Twere truly the best theres out thing. Brandon rolled his eyes. Best thing out there. Honestly, what was it with him and his grammar. Twas no talk for a proper Englishman, that was certain.

And neither was the sight that now laid itself out before him. “Erm, pardon me Miss,” he spoke tentatively, unsure as to the appropriate response to a scenario such as this. “But are you off your trolley? Granted I don’t expert to be a claim, but in my country twould be rather obscene to exhibit one’s knockers to such a degree.”

[luck]

Beverly turned her gaze to the both of them. These guys, hopefully, couldn't hurt a fly. But then again, she could never tell with the off ones. She looked down, fingering one of the buttons on her shirt, unsure if she had permission to button it or if she should run.

"Hey, chicky, you mind putting those away? If I had been a teacher, you would have been totally screwed, you know that? And, like, what sort of sick, twisted way is that for practically /begging/ for attention. Do you need professional help?"

She flinched at his words, they hurt more then the cold air in her eyes.

“But are you off your trolley? Granted I don’t expert to be a claim, but in my country twould be rather obscene to exhibit one’s knockers to such a degree.”

Beverly blushed even deeper at this. She wasn't sure to be glad the dark hid it or that it didn't. Which looked worse. "I-I'm sorry," She stuttered, turning around and button her shirt up until the last two buttons. She still felt horribly bare. "I didn't think anyone was in her, I was late for school..." She took a shaky breath. They didn't care for her excuses.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed either of you. Do you know what this is all about?" Beverly stood up, crossing her arms and walking away from the door. She settled down a few spots away from the two of them. Her eyes narrowed at her own lack of a spine. She hated being so...nervous, unadventurous, quivering in her own skin.

Of course, Beverly felt naked. She wasn't used to not wearing this much clothes, except at night. It felt...too bearing. Her grip on her arms tightened. Again, so spineless. You're an invertebrate, she could hear herself hiss.

She bit her lip hard, thinking of how to word her next question. "Do...do either of you have a sweatshirt you wouldn't mind me borrowing?" Beverly's face flushed at her stuttering words, how awkward and ungainly she looked trying to pull down her above-the-knee skirt and tugging nervously at her shirt. These two boys at least had the courtesy to tell her to cover up, but how long would she be here? Her fingers itched for her books that had been scattered across the floor. It seemed too late to pick them up now. Not to mention the stank of beer that wrinkled her nose and brought up memories of her father and bars. She almost gagged. Pathetic.

[hbghost]

Note to self: Prohibition ticks people off. BAD.

Eric nearly ran into a wall as he skidded around a corner, not daring to look behind him as he ran as fast has his body would let him. Somehow, Drake Sterling, who had scared the feces out of Eric ever since he had first come to Baum, had found out about his debated plan for the revival of prohibition around the school, and was (probably) wanting to get a piece of him at that moment.

Eric could barely distinguish his heartbeats from what his mind thought were Drake's intimidating steps behind him. How far behind him, though, he didn't know. The man could have been breathing down his neck the whole time, or he could not have been chasing Eric at all, and he would have embarrassed himself.. Eric certainly didn't have the guts to check. Nor did he have the brains to process what was being announced over the intercom.

"THIS IS A CODE RED. WE REPEAT, THIS IS A CODE RED. EVERYONE MUST REMAIN IN THE ROOM THEY ARE IN UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. TEACHERS, YOU MUST LOCK YOUR DOORS. AND DO NOT OPEN THEM FOR ANYONE. I REPEAT, REMAIN IN THE ROOM YOU ARE IN, AND DO NOT OPEN UP FOR ANYONE. AGAIN, THIS IS A CODE RED. CODE RED.”

It was only moments later, when Eric heard doors locking behind him, that he realized today marked one of the most infamous procedures in the school year... or just the month or so. Lockdown.

That also meant that Eric couldn't find a hiding place fast enough. He couldn't hide because all of the doors were locked. That he would risk getting the left side of his face mauled by Drake if he didn't do anything soon.

So he did something.

Eric stopped at the old science lab, since he was sure there was no one in there. He violently rattled the door handle, which was securely locked from the inside, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

"HELP! HELP! THERE'S A HOMICIDAL MANIAC AFTER ME!"

[rawr]

Right about now, he got ticked, as a realization dawned on him. Why the hell were all these people suddenly coming here? And all at once? It was like this was planned or something, and his paranoia level skyrocketed, at the same time. He gave a sideways glance at the brit, with his snazzy little educated comebacks. What was he going on about, anyway? Martin had no clue, nor did he want to know. if he was a Brit, he would have been cursing. But he wasn't a Brit, nor did he ever want to be one. Too civilized and all, you know? He then turned to the chick, nodding as she buttoned up, and trying to ignore her pleas for a sweatshirt. Sadly, he was wearing one. Which meant he would be a target, most likely. But when he looked down, he was glad to find he had taken it off as a make-shift pillow for his sorry ass. Which, was, no longer hurting, thank the heavens that weren't there.


He looked up, yet again, and frowned at the frantic voice that came from outside the door. Was this another joke, or was the guy for real? And what did he mean by 'Homicidal maniac'? Maybe that was the reason why they were in lockdown. Keeping his usual composure, he scurried over, and opened the door a crack, staring out with curiousity. "What's the password?" He snickered, before opening the door wider and letting the poor guy in. Hopefully he wasn't the homicidal maniac himself, heehee. But Martin would be able to withstand getting killed. Because he knew how to take a man larger than himself down. So he wasn't too unnerved by the guy, especially considering he was cute. if anything, he could hit on him and get away with it... Hopefully.

He rested a firm hand on the guy's shoulder, and patted him once or twice. "Hey, bud, are you okay? Need me to go out there and kick the guy's ass for you?" He asked, as polite as he could while saying something of the sort. He'd be glad to go out there for a minute or two, if only to calm the poor guy out. he didn't want to get stuck in the room with a freaked out guy. Cause then the dude wouldn't notice Martin's flirting, and then there was no reason to do it. But he wanted to. Whatever.

[hbghost]

As soon as the door was opened, Eric frantically ran into the storage room... right into Martin's arms. After realizing where he was, and who he had run into, he backed away as he closed the door, sealing himself in as well. Hopefully, Drake wouldn't get to him here.

"Hey, bud, are you okay? Need me to go out there and kick the guy's ass for you?"

"Th... That'd be nice," Eric stuttered, now starting to settle down. "But... at least... he can't find me here... Or, at least... he can't get in... and I don't want the other half of my face mauled off... I don't want to," he started to whine, only to realize that people were watching him. And that was embarassing enough that he was whining in public. He'd never gotten the threat of being mauled and actually having it carried out before, so it was a pretty traumatizing experience.

"But... uh... now that that's settled," Eric muttered, now embarassed that he had made a scene. "I... don't think I've ever seen you before. I... I'm Eric..."

[rawr]

He smiled kindly down at the guy, ignoring the fact that the others would notice the change in attitude. Whatever, they would have to deal with it or get a fist in the face. Whatever the case was, he was mutually proud of himself for stumbling upon the jackpot. The poor guy was indeed flustered and scared and all that sort of thing, but even so, he seemed a lot more mature than most guys Martin had met so far. Whatever, he didn't like comparing one kid to another. it just seemed wrong, even in his standards.

"Alright, alright, you try to catch your breath and I'll take a quick look." he explained, slipping a head out the door, but not before grumbling angrily at the lock, which he had a bit of trouble handling in the dark. Even as the guy continued talking behind him, he looked left and right, finding the area clear. "You're safe, Eric," he paused, using the name he had just learned with a flourish. "And I'm Martin, glad to meet ya." His grin returned as he squinted over at the guy. He seemed to be rambling on about his face not getting mauled, and then it actually happening. Ah, traumatized. Had it happened just now? As far as he could tell, the boy wasn't bleeding or nothing, so probably not.

"Am I to assume you ran into what's causing the Lockdown?" he asked suddenly, a fierceness in his voice. If only he /had/ found whoever had been chasing the guy. it was /his/ fault all these people had found his hiding place. And if he ever found the guy, he was soooo dead!

[hbghost]

"Am I to assume you ran into what's causing the Lockdown?"

Eric shook his head.

"No, I don't think so... it's only Drake Sterling, who would probably cause a lockdown ANY day... He must've heard about my propostion for a prohibition revival... and he must've gotten mad, because... Sorry, Martin... I tend to act like a little girl when Drake's either around or mentioned... I can't count how many times I've crapped my pants when he's in the same room... Sorry I'm freaking out..."

He knew he was blabbering again, so he kept his mouth shut, looking cautiously at the door every once in a while to see if Drake would burst in or something similar. Even though he knew Drake wouldn't bust the door down and wring him by his neck or anything dramatic like that, Eric was still terrified, although he settled down a bit for every second that Drake didn't show his face.

"And... nice to meet you... Martin," he added, now somewhat settled down and back to his normal self, although he would grow tense when something moved or he heard something that wasn't Martin.

[rawr]

Ah, well,m there went that plan. But at least the poor guy was calming down now. and they knew each other's names and he wasn't too jumpy, so long as nothing moved too much or a sound wasn't too loud or close. He sighed, rubbing at his forehead from all that had happened in the past couple minutes. He was surprised he wasn't having a headache, and was glad he had only had a couple sips of his booze before people started busting in on him.

He sniffed lightly, and then slipped into a sitting position, leaning against a large grouping of boxes, ignoring the fact his bum sank into one such box, which meant if anyone busted in he'd have trouble getting up and fighting. But right now, that wasn't what he was focusing on. And while Eric had gotten calm, now it was his turn to get stiff. This guy, this one /right/ in striking distance, was the one who was trying to bring back Prohibition? He screwed his eyes up, and his nose wrinkled as he gritted his teeth. It was all he could do to not shake the guy by the shoulders with rage. or kick him. or beat the shit out of him.

"And I'm sorry to hear about the unfortunate... crapping.." He decided to grumble, his mood lightening as he recalled how Eric had said it. Which made it sound like it was a little 5 year old saying a word he thought was nasty, like suck or idiot or shutup. It /almost/ made him giggle, though that wasn't his type of thing to do.

[hbghost]

Eric wasn't one to ignore the fact that Martin was now glaring at him. His eyes now grew wide as realization rushed through his body.

I was running away from a homicidal lunatic... only to run into ANOTHER homicidal lunatic... crap, crap, crap, what do I do...? he thought, slowly inching away. It seemed that no one agreed with his Prohibition idea, because since he had shared it within earshot of the public, several people were getting on his tail, and the growth wasn't getting any better with the bruises that were now adorning it, despite it being the most fragile part of his face.

He hoped that Martin wouldn't notice that he was carefully inching toward the door to open it again and flee, only to realize that the room was so dark he couldn't tell where the door was. So when Eric thought he was inching toward the door, he was actually inching in the opposite direction, and he would eventually trip and fall backwards into Martin's lap.

Which was bad news considering the fact that both Drake AND Martin were likely planning on making the other half of his face look like a plate of mashed potatoes.

[rawr]

He couldn't help but notice Eric was inching away. Crap, had he done something wrong? He flinched at the thought, trying to recall whatever it could possibly be. But, then, he remembered the sour expression he had most likely made when realization of the prohibition thing being involved with Eric. Ohh, he had gone and done it now.

He raised his hands in an apolagetical way, frowning with regret. Ah, he was so stupid. Now he had gone and done it, making Eric scared shitless. He was probably just as bad as Drake, if he could guess anything from Eric's reaction. "Look, man, I'm really sorry, but the prohibition thing would totally kill me. Sorry if, I, like, scared you or something." he winced at his failure to make up a sincere apology. Course, it wasn't Eric or Martin's fault that any of this was happening.

He felt like he could fit into the star-crossed lovers type of story. Like he would totally fit into the role of one of the characters in Romeo & Juliet. Ah, but that was his screw-y imagination playing tricks on him, right? But even as he thought it, he looked up to find a slow-mo occuring. Which meant it was an epic event. Something to be remembered in the years to come. Yup, that would be epic.

He winced as Eric hit his lap, his calves digging into his shoes, and his feet in turn were twisted rather oddly in his shoes as they were pushed into the box he was sitting on, which smushed it even more. He opened one eye to stare down at the other man, blinking once or twice before truley believing it had all happened. of course, he had to bite his tongue not to yowl in pain from the way the guy has just fallen on him. But here he was, right there. And a little... close for comfort. Like, his head had been inches away from giving poor Martin a nutshot. Oh, and it would have really hurt, Martin was sure. It would cause, like, no children. None at all.

At the thought of how close he had escaped a larger amount of pain, he sighed, but then realized that Eric could have been easily hurt. "Ah, dude, are you okay, Eric?" He asked, leaning forwards so that he could stare him straight in the face, his eyes searching for any damage or twisted limbs. Which, considering the fall, were going to be a likely outcome of this.

[hbghost]

"Look, man, I'm really sorry, but the prohibition thing would totally kill me. Sorry if, I, like, scared you or something."

Eric froze.

"So... like... you're not going to beat the living crap out of me for even mentioning it...?" he quivered. The last thing he needed was for Martin to say he wouldn't and then he would. That was all fine and good, but... Eric couldn't help but to notice that Martin seemed to have different intentions for their getting along than he did...

"Ah, dude, are you okay, Eric?"


Eric yelped, and then he replied somewhat calmly, "Ow... yeah, I think so... ugh, but my mask... wait..." He felt his face, before wincing and planting his right hand on top of the growth. "My mask...! Ugh... it's been coming loose a lot lately... oh, no... Just... give me a moment..."

He slowly crawled out of Martin's grasp (which was rather hard to do with only one hand on the ground) and felt around for the mask with his left hand. At one point, he slipped on the hardwood floor and fell on his stomach before forcing himself to take his hand off his face to help himself sit up.