If he knows any of these people, he knows Bodhi; knows the shape of his name in Bodhi's voice. Even that quiet, in a crowded space, Jude swivels to the sound on steadying, undsteadying feet. Still in clinging scrubs, still dripping from his hair, the eyes will still focus with that same overcast color.
"Bodhi," he answers the damp and better clothed spectre of the man he met when first he rolled out of the water. It smooths down the hair and beard, leaving familiar brows to their uncomfortable slant.
That might be the most familiar thing about them.
His gaze drops, finding the arm band, the fresh scrubs. The desire to close the space is strong enough that he steps back from it, just once, and turns his gaze out toward the buildings. He's starting to feel the cold, and with one reason for lingering resolved, there's still the other: "Are the buildings safe?"
no subject
"Bodhi," he answers the damp and better clothed spectre of the man he met when first he rolled out of the water. It smooths down the hair and beard, leaving familiar brows to their uncomfortable slant.
That might be the most familiar thing about them.
His gaze drops, finding the arm band, the fresh scrubs. The desire to close the space is strong enough that he steps back from it, just once, and turns his gaze out toward the buildings. He's starting to feel the cold, and with one reason for lingering resolved, there's still the other: "Are the buildings safe?"