[Each breath feels like his throat is burning. Guzma can still taste bile and it's oppressive - the taste of his sickness, the very air of that awful place. He can feel sweat on his face and neck, and he only faintly hears the voice speaking to him amidst the throbbing in his ears. It was so much, so much at once. With everything he's had to witness, with everything he himself has had to relive...this was his limit.
Was his past as bad as this? Guzma can't compare it, nor does he want to. There's no better or worse here, just pain. Just pain and suffering.
Finally, he looks up, noting the woman at his side trying to offer him some sort of comfort. He still breathes a little hard, bits of his white hair sticking to his damp brow, and his face is still a little white and splotchy. What did she say? He didn't hear it all, but he can assume it was something along the lines of checking up on him. If he's alright, or needs help. He shakes his head, wiping his face.]
M'as good as I'm gonna be...after that. [He mutters a soft curse - holy shit - under his breath, rubbing his eyes, as if that'd help to erase the image he saw.]
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Was his past as bad as this? Guzma can't compare it, nor does he want to. There's no better or worse here, just pain. Just pain and suffering.
Finally, he looks up, noting the woman at his side trying to offer him some sort of comfort. He still breathes a little hard, bits of his white hair sticking to his damp brow, and his face is still a little white and splotchy. What did she say? He didn't hear it all, but he can assume it was something along the lines of checking up on him. If he's alright, or needs help. He shakes his head, wiping his face.]
M'as good as I'm gonna be...after that. [He mutters a soft curse - holy shit - under his breath, rubbing his eyes, as if that'd help to erase the image he saw.]