[ The young man in a white fringed leather jacket who's collided so spectacularly with the ground is hunched over his drawn up knees muttering to himself when Pyrrha arrives. It's not clear exactly what he's saying, but the words 'you idiot' and 'can't believe it' and 'what a week' are definitely peppered in.
He curls up even more abjectly on himself when Pyrrha approaches, but his hair doesn't hide his face like it used to. The short blond locks with their one vivid streak of white barely even hide the top of his forehead. ]
I'm fine!
[ He says, or, more accurately, squeaks, and he wishes the bull had flung him clean out of the saloon and into the street with fervent desperation. Time stubbornly refuses to run backwards to make that possible for him. ]
I mean - [ that's a little less high-pitched ] - I'm fine. Don't worry about it.
3
He curls up even more abjectly on himself when Pyrrha approaches, but his hair doesn't hide his face like it used to. The short blond locks with their one vivid streak of white barely even hide the top of his forehead. ]
I'm fine!
[ He says, or, more accurately, squeaks, and he wishes the bull had flung him clean out of the saloon and into the street with fervent desperation. Time stubbornly refuses to run backwards to make that possible for him. ]
I mean - [ that's a little less high-pitched ] - I'm fine. Don't worry about it.