Duo dragged his other hand over his face, fingers smearing dust that was mostly dead... him, over his face. It went nicely with his current skin tone -- a study in greyscale.
Dick was still talking.
He should focus on that, Duo knew, but there were other things keeping his attention. The smell and the silence that fell around the words and everything that was different inside Deathscythe. Altered. The yellow-brown husk with a braid and a cross and a face that was him that was him that was him--
Panicking never helped. Not once in all his life had panicking helped Duo. Despite all that it seemed the thing to do.
Went nicely with the shaking and the lack of breathing and the bone-skin-him dust ground into his face.