*feels rather than hears the warm pulse of your thought (you are so different) in his head*
*automatically winging a prayer every bit as gentle* —Melian.
*after a moment, climbs halfway over the front seat to have a look at Reggie (a nasty cut or two, maybe a bump, but he's babbling and seems mostly okay)* Reggie, shut up. You're fine.
*looks around for any sign of that thing; even thinks around, which of course is utterly pointless (he isn't you; he isn't even the Elda he once was)* *sits or falls back into his seat, wiping a dark smear off his cheek (blood) as he attempts to get his bearings again*