[ Ominous. John flicks another wary glance at him out of the corner of his eye, then grumbles agreement and turns back to the Husk.
He creeps closer, into the quiet hum of the Husks. Nothing happens. He closes his grip on one handle of the shears, and pulls— almost gets it— slides his grip closer, and brushes the heel of his hand against the Husk's metal wrist.
Immediately the hum peaks to a brittle cry, and John jolts back. The Husk flickers. It does not move, but it does change: it becomes a haggard, bearded version of John, dressed in filthy rags. He looks up at them with blank eyes and blood pouring from a slice across his throat. John jerks a hand up to the matching scar on his neck and snarls. ]
Fuck you! [ He wrenches the shears free and steps back in a hurry. The Husk does not follow, and after a moment, the vision flickers out. ]
no subject
He creeps closer, into the quiet hum of the Husks. Nothing happens. He closes his grip on one handle of the shears, and pulls— almost gets it— slides his grip closer, and brushes the heel of his hand against the Husk's metal wrist.
Immediately the hum peaks to a brittle cry, and John jolts back. The Husk flickers. It does not move, but it does change: it becomes a haggard, bearded version of John, dressed in filthy rags. He looks up at them with blank eyes and blood pouring from a slice across his throat. John jerks a hand up to the matching scar on his neck and snarls. ]
Fuck you! [ He wrenches the shears free and steps back in a hurry. The Husk does not follow, and after a moment, the vision flickers out. ]