[He doesn't resist, and he's pulled down on top of Lee. Kenny lays there, for a moment, wrapping his arms around the back of Lee's neck. Shit, he's warm as hell- it's nice. Relaxing and calming in a way.]
I know. [Soft and high.] I know.
[He's dedicated himself to this; thrown in his lot with whatever has happened, whether it's real or a hallucination or perhaps the hell he deserves for the things he's done. A hell where it's still covered in walkers, and perhaps with Lee's death looming in the future. Just to make sure he suffers. Regardless of what it is- it's his now. He just wants some shred of happiness in life.
Kenny pushes himself up enough so he's mostly straddling Lee now. He pulls off his hat and tosses it on a nearby chair. Doesn't care if it gets dirty it's ALREADY dirty. Lee? If you thought his hair was bad already, look at all the hair he manages to fucking stuff under that big dumb orange hat of his. Wavy, thick, and more grey than black anymore. Stress, not age. He's only a few years older than Lee, after all.]
I, uh, promise to explain everything, alright? I said... I said I would. But not now. Tonight?
[He's just letting his mouth run as he shrugs off the green jacket; he's skinnier than he used to be. No heavier muscle from the hard work of running a fishing boat, just the lean ones of someone used to starving off and on while still having to run and fight and other shit.
Kenny tugs off his stained t-shirt as well. There's the scar from when he was shot: an indent in his side and discolored flesh from scar tissue. But that's not the extend of the damage he's taken. There's older scars, ones from before the apocalypse (working on a fishing boat is one of the most dangerous and lethal professions, he's been hurt badly more than once on his own boat), but there's newer ones, too. Fights with other survivors. Kenny's one tough old bastard.]
no subject
I know. [Soft and high.] I know.
[He's dedicated himself to this; thrown in his lot with whatever has happened, whether it's real or a hallucination or perhaps the hell he deserves for the things he's done. A hell where it's still covered in walkers, and perhaps with Lee's death looming in the future. Just to make sure he suffers. Regardless of what it is- it's his now. He just wants some shred of happiness in life.
Kenny pushes himself up enough so he's mostly straddling Lee now. He pulls off his hat and tosses it on a nearby chair. Doesn't care if it gets dirty it's ALREADY dirty. Lee? If you thought his hair was bad already, look at all the hair he manages to fucking stuff under that big dumb orange hat of his. Wavy, thick, and more grey than black anymore. Stress, not age. He's only a few years older than Lee, after all.]
I, uh, promise to explain everything, alright? I said... I said I would. But not now. Tonight?
[He's just letting his mouth run as he shrugs off the green jacket; he's skinnier than he used to be. No heavier muscle from the hard work of running a fishing boat, just the lean ones of someone used to starving off and on while still having to run and fight and other shit.
Kenny tugs off his stained t-shirt as well. There's the scar from when he was shot: an indent in his side and discolored flesh from scar tissue. But that's not the extend of the damage he's taken. There's older scars, ones from before the apocalypse (working on a fishing boat is one of the most dangerous and lethal professions, he's been hurt badly more than once on his own boat), but there's newer ones, too. Fights with other survivors. Kenny's one tough old bastard.]