[ Talking about Spider-Man, about how close he'd been to a cure, it ties a knot of anger and bile in Harry's chest. He's too preoccupied with the static of rage clouding his mind to pick up on the use of "we" and "us" in Otto's reply.
There comes the shaky breath of someone talking himself down off a ledge. The sound of someone picking up a bottle of something, the glass of the bottle neck knocking against a glass as it pours under a shaking hand. And finally, a clatter as the hand shakes just once too hard and the glass is knocked to the floor. ]
—Fuck!!
[ Whatever he's spilled, it's pooling across his hotel room floor. He has to go grab a towel and clean it up. There may or may not be broken glass. ]
Listen, I— I gotta go. I'll... [ Fuck. ] Just let me know when you need those samples from me.
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no subject
There comes the shaky breath of someone talking himself down off a ledge. The sound of someone picking up a bottle of something, the glass of the bottle neck knocking against a glass as it pours under a shaking hand. And finally, a clatter as the hand shakes just once too hard and the glass is knocked to the floor. ]
—Fuck!!
[ Whatever he's spilled, it's pooling across his hotel room floor. He has to go grab a towel and clean it up. There may or may not be broken glass. ]
Listen, I— I gotta go. I'll... [ Fuck. ] Just let me know when you need those samples from me.
no subject
[Otto's voice is alarmed initially. But it doesn't sound like anything worse than a spilled glass. He frowns, still troubled, but lets it go.]
Yes, yes, of course. Get some rest, it's late.