Jim was tired. More than tired, he was drained. He wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but he was wishing he'd gotten dragged to that medic robot instead of bed; his arm was sore and aching and he knew if he tried to move his fingers or flex the muscles in his wrist and hand, he'd just renew the pain that was being amiable. Jim had told Sokka to go get himself something to eat, at the very least because it looked like the guy hadn't eaten in a while. But also because Jim wanted to be alone for a few minutes. Wanted to think about some things, work some things out on his own
( ... )
Silver did not like what he saw. To say the least, Jim looked like a mess.
"...y'look like y'got run over by a sloop, then it backed up n' hitcha again." He huffs a bit. "Open th' door a bit more, wouldya? Can't stand out here holdin' this tray f'rever."
"Gee, thanks." Sarcasm returned, so he was obviously feeling okay enough to see the cook. Jim stepped out of the way and opened the door more to let him in.
"Uh... Looks like the only clean spot to sit is the chair in the corner." Sokka'd made his home apparently at the desk chair and the rest of the room was a mess of plates and leftover food from the boys.
...so the room is a mess, too. Silver's more amused at that part, but he's not liking the look of Jim. Especially those scars on his arm, and the other one in some sort of splint.
"Hows yer arm?" He's finding a clean spot to set down the tray.
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"...y'look like y'got run over by a sloop, then it backed up n' hitcha again." He huffs a bit. "Open th' door a bit more, wouldya? Can't stand out here holdin' this tray f'rever."
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"Uh... Looks like the only clean spot to sit is the chair in the corner." Sokka'd made his home apparently at the desk chair and the rest of the room was a mess of plates and leftover food from the boys.
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"Hows yer arm?" He's finding a clean spot to set down the tray.
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