[As soon as Ford looks up, numbers are coming at him. Ford tries to rise, but his vague awareness of consciousness betrays him and his legs-- his legs just won't move.
He covers his ears, ringing with Bill's lecture, and he ducks aside away from the first line of numbers-- then the others, aimed directly at him--
--Then ten. He can't dodge ten like this. Too late, his legs agree to start working again just for him to be knocked around by massive calculations. He falls back onto the 'floor', just in time to see the black wall of Bill's arm coming for him. Ford can do nothing but brace himself, arms in front of him defensively.
It hits.
Bill flings him back and unfortunately, he knows exactly what that feels like. He does his best to tuck and roll to try and soften the impact. He's winded, aching, and he could stay down-- he probably should--but he won't.
Ford clutches at his throat, smelling the singed flesh, feeling those damned shackles tug at his extremities. It is an inescapable memory that still haunts him and overtakes his senses in moments like these, making him feel cut off from escape, enclosed, trapped.
It also hardens him--he can't let this keep him down, he refuses.
Gradually, Ford climbs to his feet. He stands confidently but inside he feels like a dried, brittle leaf this close to crumbling apart.
no subject
He covers his ears, ringing with Bill's lecture, and he ducks aside away from the first line of numbers-- then the others, aimed directly at him--
--Then ten. He can't dodge ten like this. Too late, his legs agree to start working again just for him to be knocked around by massive calculations. He falls back onto the 'floor', just in time to see the black wall of Bill's arm coming for him. Ford can do nothing but brace himself, arms in front of him defensively.
It hits.
Bill flings him back and unfortunately, he knows exactly what that feels like. He does his best to tuck and roll to try and soften the impact. He's winded, aching, and he could stay down-- he probably should--but he won't.
Ford clutches at his throat, smelling the singed flesh, feeling those damned shackles tug at his extremities. It is an inescapable memory that still haunts him and overtakes his senses in moments like these, making him feel cut off from escape, enclosed, trapped.
It also hardens him--he can't let this keep him down, he refuses.
Gradually, Ford climbs to his feet. He stands confidently but inside he feels like a dried, brittle leaf this close to crumbling apart.
He cranes his neck to stare Bill down anyway.]