[With a frown and a sharp look, he yanks his wrist away. There's an urge to protest–insist that of the two of them, he's the expendable one but truth be told he doesn't want that. There's a limit to his self-sacrifice and death is pushing it. Reluctantly–and with one eye watching the bug on Armin's thigh–he hands the blade over, taking the torch.]
Who says it'll go past–[A wince and a sharp intake of breath.]–go past my neck?
no subject
Who says it'll go past–[A wince and a sharp intake of breath.]–go past my neck?