[Wheatley landed with his face on the pavement, with only minor injuries and a bruised ego. There hadn't been much momentum in the strike. He allowed the stranger to help, the attempted bite having sapped the rest of his willpower. His head was pounding as if a spike was driving through his skull. The pain at the bottom of his spine was coalescing into a sharp, throbbing point. Wheatley flicked his tongue in irritation, but did not struggle. Especially not when he realized its tip had fallen apart into two pointed halves.]
Sorry. I'm sorry. That was- that was my bad.
[His low, smooth voice was now marred with a thick lisp. Wheatley's mouth was no longer his, and that stung more than the stabbing headache or the fire inside his spine.]
no subject
Sorry. I'm sorry. That was- that was my bad.
[His low, smooth voice was now marred with a thick lisp. Wheatley's mouth was no longer his, and that stung more than the stabbing headache or the fire inside his spine.]