John almost jumped out of his skin when he became bi-lingual out of the blue.
"Who's there?" John demanded, whirling and - oh hell, there was no one there and that was a bad sign 'cause it meant it was all him and his lonesome, and he'd just finished reassuring Aeryn all over again that he was fine, clean bill of mental health on his end. "Please, please tell me I'm not finally going bonkers."
He thought he could feel something in there now that he wasn't splashing around in piss water. Not like normal, when he had the headaches or it felt like if he just turned to the side he'd bump into Old Leatherface. That was still there. Felt like something else. Something on top of that, as if he needed more freaky stuff in his life. John struggled to push himself to his feet, found he could barely move his arms and legs despite the fact he was pretty sure he was telling them to get him to his feet. One of his arms twitched and he tipped over against a wall before he could stop himself.
This was John Crichton trying not to panic. He could shoot now, he'd done things he wasn't proud of, but at the end of the day, he at least had his body and his mind and that was really all he was asking.
Re: [Crichton and Mal]
"Who's there?" John demanded, whirling and - oh hell, there was no one there and that was a bad sign 'cause it meant it was all him and his lonesome, and he'd just finished reassuring Aeryn all over again that he was fine, clean bill of mental health on his end. "Please, please tell me I'm not finally going bonkers."
He thought he could feel something in there now that he wasn't splashing around in piss water. Not like normal, when he had the headaches or it felt like if he just turned to the side he'd bump into Old Leatherface. That was still there. Felt like something else. Something on top of that, as if he needed more freaky stuff in his life. John struggled to push himself to his feet, found he could barely move his arms and legs despite the fact he was pretty sure he was telling them to get him to his feet. One of his arms twitched and he tipped over against a wall before he could stop himself.
This was John Crichton trying not to panic. He could shoot now, he'd done things he wasn't proud of, but at the end of the day, he at least had his body and his mind and that was really all he was asking.