[action/accidental voice] and foward bends his head

[abidinglaw]

[It is a lovely day and Admiral Norrington is sat out on the steps to his apartment building as befits such weather, bent forward as though scrutinizing his own knees. Laid out across his lap is his uniform's coat, ripped during the battle dome debacle. Why has he come outside? The daylight will help his eye to guide the needle. His fingers, however, are being no help whatsoever, and no amount of sunlight seems enough to prevent him from stabbing himself in the tips of his fingers. It's truly a wonder he managed to thread the damned thing. Following one particularly savage penetration he cries;]

Dash it all!

[And in anger he closes his fist around the coat, staining it with a thin streak of blood and crumpling it all around the breast.]

Oh, very good. Most prudent. Congratulations.