[Carlisle puts up a hand to stop Reynir, or at least slow him down as he rattles off a dozen details. Shoving his fingers beneath his glasses, he paws at his eyes for moment, trying to shake that feeling of disorientation. It's been so long since he felt that way -- dizzy, unsettled, maybe nauseated? Or not. Now that he's undead, it's hard to discern those feelings from one another and know if he's actually experiencing them at all, or if the sensations are just products of a worried mind making him feel what he thinks he ought to be as he desperately tries to cling to any shred of his humanity he has left.
Distracted with his immediate concerns, he seems to belatedly realize Reynir's hand is on his shoulder, shrinking away from it the moment he does. The gesture he makes is somewhat vague, as though he's apologetic for avoiding physical contact, all while doing just that.]
I'm fine. I'm fine and I remember, ah. Most of that. Not the part where you— wait, you did what to my door?
no subject
Distracted with his immediate concerns, he seems to belatedly realize Reynir's hand is on his shoulder, shrinking away from it the moment he does. The gesture he makes is somewhat vague, as though he's apologetic for avoiding physical contact, all while doing just that.]
I'm fine. I'm fine and I remember, ah. Most of that. Not the part where you— wait, you did what to my door?