[It could be worse, he tells himself - and Arthur tells himself a lot of things that aren't necessarily true but this one is. He throws a hand out to the side of the table once he's been pulled back up enough, sets most of his weight on that side at first, not keen on White helping him out but only because he's not keen on anyone helping him, nothing personal to the acquaintance. (He's not sure 'colleague' quite works here though in the relation of the casino, all right, technicality fulfilled.) But he's caused an inevitable scene and there are chips scattered in an impressive diameter so he clenches his jaw like he plans to have it stuck that way and shifts what he knows to be less than half his weight on White. It's enough to get one foot in front of the other and the truth is he'd feel better about this if he had some kind of injury; it's the fact that he doesn't that's really mortifying. He's just sick.
It's strange.
Whatever direction, he lets White pick because he's pretty sure that every time he thinks he's looking one way it turns into another, not saying anything at first but, at some point en route coughing out something that sounds suspiciously like ] Thanks. [ And, ] Sorry.
[ He's most surprised maybe to find that he actually means it but doesn't say anything else, experimentally taking more of his weight off of White from time to time, always having to lean on him again anyway. ]
no subject
It's strange.
Whatever direction, he lets White pick because he's pretty sure that every time he thinks he's looking one way it turns into another, not saying anything at first but, at some point en route coughing out something that sounds suspiciously like ] Thanks. [ And, ] Sorry.
[ He's most surprised maybe to find that he actually means it but doesn't say anything else, experimentally taking more of his weight off of White from time to time, always having to lean on him again anyway. ]