[Carlisle takes a moment to recompose himself, cycle a few breaths through him to soothe his riled energies. He sets one hand along the wall to steady himself; with the other, he drags that ink-stained bandage on his arm across his mouth, trying to get most of the black residue trailing from him. He's met with only marginal success, as usual.
He finds his voice a few seconds later; it's quieter, as shaky as the rest of him, far more graveled than before from the pain in his throat.]
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Date: 2018-08-27 01:45 am (UTC)He finds his voice a few seconds later; it's quieter, as shaky as the rest of him, far more graveled than before from the pain in his throat.]
Tell me what you know, Atem.
[That's not a question, nor a polite request.]