[He looks at the cigarette and takes it with his good hand, still resting the other by his side - blood's dried up to his knuckles, a trickle still running down his fingers. Putting the cigarette between his lips, he waits for a light - and feels tired. So damn tired.]
The place is going to hell around us, yet I'm feeling reminiscent. And apologetic, ahh... [He closes his eyes, smiling. What a weakness.] Bloody mortal hearts and minds, mh?