"Woah." Moose are about as exotic and strange and otherworldly as Will can imagine right now, sitting in a Sacramento airport. There's a definite dreamy look on his face as, ever the twelve-year-old boy, he asks reverently: "Can moose really crush cars with their feet? I read that somewhere, that they're really really dangerous." Essentially, no disappointment here, not when he can imagine moose trampling cars all over the place.
It's almost possible to see Will's mind committing all this to memory -- and indeed, later, he's going to draw out everything Sam's told him, two-man saws and wooden frames and bracers and magic potatoes and moose. For a moment he's caught up in Sam's storytelling, blissfully transported away from his current reality. It comes crashing down, of course, and Will's shoulders slump a little bit.
"Yeah. I've got bad veins." He says it flatly, like it's something he's been told multiple times. It's likely more to do with the fact that he's tiny, that he's never quite hydrated enough, that he's been stuck so many times in his arms that, though he should be used to it, he twitches when the needles come near, and the back-of-the-hand is easier. Still, the comparison makes him curious, eyes flicking over Sam's tattooed skin to see if she's anything like him. Do tattoo needles bruise like IV ones? "Does it hurt?" he ventures, not quite able to imagine being stuck on purpose. Even after months of doctors, that's still his least favorite bit.
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Date: 2017-12-11 01:15 am (UTC)It's almost possible to see Will's mind committing all this to memory -- and indeed, later, he's going to draw out everything Sam's told him, two-man saws and wooden frames and bracers and magic potatoes and moose. For a moment he's caught up in Sam's storytelling, blissfully transported away from his current reality. It comes crashing down, of course, and Will's shoulders slump a little bit.
"Yeah. I've got bad veins." He says it flatly, like it's something he's been told multiple times. It's likely more to do with the fact that he's tiny, that he's never quite hydrated enough, that he's been stuck so many times in his arms that, though he should be used to it, he twitches when the needles come near, and the back-of-the-hand is easier. Still, the comparison makes him curious, eyes flicking over Sam's tattooed skin to see if she's anything like him. Do tattoo needles bruise like IV ones? "Does it hurt?" he ventures, not quite able to imagine being stuck on purpose. Even after months of doctors, that's still his least favorite bit.