The color drains from Crichton's face faster than the drink from his glass. There's a significant amount of white showing around his bloodshot blue eyes--noticeable now that his gaze is suddenly darting from Parker to the exit and back.
The date he could have dismissed as a coincidence. The line of work, too. But not the name. Not the bruises. The talk of a friend killing him in a bad moment... God have mercy, this is Arthur's Parker isn't it? Frell. Fuck. FUCK. Arthur is going to kill again.
"...S-sorry," he stammers, still in a state of shock trying to process how the hell his luck could possibly get worse?? "I think I'm gonna hurl." That might not even be a lie. Feels like every word he's ever spoken to Arthur is trying to crawl up the back of his throat right this very minute.
He darts from behind the bar, too panicked to think of anything except that he needs out of this conversation immediately. He hasn't considered what he'll do once he makes it out the door but one problem at a time, here.
no subject
The color drains from Crichton's face faster than the drink from his glass. There's a significant amount of white showing around his bloodshot blue eyes--noticeable now that his gaze is suddenly darting from Parker to the exit and back.
The date he could have dismissed as a coincidence. The line of work, too. But not the name. Not the bruises. The talk of a friend killing him in a bad moment... God have mercy, this is Arthur's Parker isn't it? Frell. Fuck. FUCK. Arthur is going to kill again.
"...S-sorry," he stammers, still in a state of shock trying to process how the hell his luck could possibly get worse?? "I think I'm gonna hurl." That might not even be a lie. Feels like every word he's ever spoken to Arthur is trying to crawl up the back of his throat right this very minute.
He darts from behind the bar, too panicked to think of anything except that he needs out of this conversation immediately. He hasn't considered what he'll do once he makes it out the door but one problem at a time, here.