Flint and tinder, seriously. [ His voice is flat, but he extends a hand for her to drop the rocks into. They have been reduced to being cavemen, apparently, slamming rocks together in hopes it will create a flame.
It's so fucking backward. He could just dream fucking anything, a torch that doesn't ever die, a portable campfire, whatever he wants. And here he is, rolling two rocks in his hand carefully. ]
I shouldn't take yours. I can find my own. Where d'you find them?
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It's so fucking backward. He could just dream fucking anything, a torch that doesn't ever die, a portable campfire, whatever he wants. And here he is, rolling two rocks in his hand carefully. ]
I shouldn't take yours. I can find my own. Where d'you find them?