"Watch it," Howard says, both in the way of Tim's escape and, at the moment, unwilling to move. He's got both feet planted where he can actually see - not easy when you're five feet and everyone has a tendency to wear ridiculous headpieces - and he has to admit, he's getting a little bit of sick pleasure from watching the dragon chase after Alpha.
He shouldn't, he tells himself. Alpha's supposed to be his ally, but the plain fact of the matter is that Howard's not shedding any tears to watch the guy who clotheslined him and held a knife over him run for his life. Instead, Howard's sipping at a cocktail - it's the only thing he can drink here that he doesn't try to chug in one gulp, and that's only because alcohol hurts going down his throat - and craning his neck slightly to see one of the screens.
His wounds may have been healed, but if anything he looks worse than the last time Tim saw him. Lean has given way to emaciated again, as it always does when he's resurrected - for some reason the Capitol sees fit to give him the same body as when they dropped him in the Arena his very first time, like right out of the FAYZ. Even his tailored clothing seems to pool around his skeletal body, and the dark circles under his eyes mix with the hollowness of his eye sockets to give his face the impression of having bulletholes above the nose. He raises an eyebrow and turns his head to see who's getting too close into his personal bubble.
Oh, right. This guy. The one who's smart enough to take ethernet cables and, in Howard's opinion, dumb enough to presume he knows everything about everyone (the hypocrisy of such a stance is lost on him). On one hand, Howard feels a bit bad about snapping at him. On the other, Howard's not feeling especially generous right now.
"Wow, so you died too? I almost thought you'd win."
He's being sarcastic. Tim was nice to him, for at least a few minutes, even if only to get information - and those people don't win, in Howard's experience.
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He shouldn't, he tells himself. Alpha's supposed to be his ally, but the plain fact of the matter is that Howard's not shedding any tears to watch the guy who clotheslined him and held a knife over him run for his life. Instead, Howard's sipping at a cocktail - it's the only thing he can drink here that he doesn't try to chug in one gulp, and that's only because alcohol hurts going down his throat - and craning his neck slightly to see one of the screens.
His wounds may have been healed, but if anything he looks worse than the last time Tim saw him. Lean has given way to emaciated again, as it always does when he's resurrected - for some reason the Capitol sees fit to give him the same body as when they dropped him in the Arena his very first time, like right out of the FAYZ. Even his tailored clothing seems to pool around his skeletal body, and the dark circles under his eyes mix with the hollowness of his eye sockets to give his face the impression of having bulletholes above the nose. He raises an eyebrow and turns his head to see who's getting too close into his personal bubble.
Oh, right. This guy. The one who's smart enough to take ethernet cables and, in Howard's opinion, dumb enough to presume he knows everything about everyone (the hypocrisy of such a stance is lost on him). On one hand, Howard feels a bit bad about snapping at him. On the other, Howard's not feeling especially generous right now.
"Wow, so you died too? I almost thought you'd win."
He's being sarcastic. Tim was nice to him, for at least a few minutes, even if only to get information - and those people don't win, in Howard's experience.