[Even in the dim light, Wade can clearly see that the good doctor isn't doing so hot. His skin has gone pale and clammy with illness, marred in spots by ugly, weeping sores. His eyes seem unfocused, the pupils barely retracting even when Wade guides the light from the flashlight closer to get a better look.
He looks like Wade did a long time ago, suffering from the final stages of cancer with no relief in sight save for a slow, lingering death.
Wade draws in a breath of stale, stagnant air; lets it out slowly. He drops to one knee beside the other man and huffs out a laugh of his own. There's no humor in that sound.]
'f you don't mind me sayin' so, doc... you look like shit.
no subject
He looks like Wade did a long time ago, suffering from the final stages of cancer with no relief in sight save for a slow, lingering death.
Wade draws in a breath of stale, stagnant air; lets it out slowly. He drops to one knee beside the other man and huffs out a laugh of his own. There's no humor in that sound.]
'f you don't mind me sayin' so, doc... you look like shit.