[Prior is himself walking with a purpose. That purpose being finding a bench, or some other place to sit down in a goddamn city that seems to have no municipal concern for the infirm. Really, he'd get around fine if there were just a little more public seating.
He's considering writing a strongly worded letter to whatever counts as the Mayor's office here (can you write strongly worded letters to an empress? One suspects her imperial highness may not give the smallest of shits). He's also considering how the very idea of writing a strongly worded letter makes him feel like an impossibly more pedantic person than he is. He doesn't need his ex boyfriend anymore, not if he's going to become him.
So, no letters, but some loud internal complaint, noisy enough to distract him from keeping an eye on where he's going. Although even if he had, the crash when it comes is too quick to prevent.
In the next moment a strange man's holding him up by the shoulders, and Prior's half bent over with a shooting pain in his leg, which he's not capable of facing with a stiff upper lip.]
Do I look alright to you? [Only if deathly pale and sweaty happens to be a good look in Dirk's part of the world.] My leg's about to - ah.
[And the next minute there are two men clutching each other on this particular street corner, as Prior reciprocates Dirk's shoulder grip.]
Just... hold me up. One second, and I'll be fine.
[It may be more than one second, and he won't, but the details of that are too much to spit out through gritted teeth.]
no subject
He's considering writing a strongly worded letter to whatever counts as the Mayor's office here (can you write strongly worded letters to an empress? One suspects her imperial highness may not give the smallest of shits). He's also considering how the very idea of writing a strongly worded letter makes him feel like an impossibly more pedantic person than he is. He doesn't need his ex boyfriend anymore, not if he's going to become him.
So, no letters, but some loud internal complaint, noisy enough to distract him from keeping an eye on where he's going. Although even if he had, the crash when it comes is too quick to prevent.
In the next moment a strange man's holding him up by the shoulders, and Prior's half bent over with a shooting pain in his leg, which he's not capable of facing with a stiff upper lip.]
Do I look alright to you? [Only if deathly pale and sweaty happens to be a good look in Dirk's part of the world.] My leg's about to - ah.
[And the next minute there are two men clutching each other on this particular street corner, as Prior reciprocates Dirk's shoulder grip.]
Just... hold me up. One second, and I'll be fine.
[It may be more than one second, and he won't, but the details of that are too much to spit out through gritted teeth.]