[The noise and flashing various colored lights have not been helping his headache. He finally stopped tugging in favor of simply staring the machine down, hoping his patented 'Jonathan Sims Glare' might do the trick. Unfortunately it seems the machine here have heard of neither Jonathan Sims or the Archivist.
(The poor love-worn leather jacket is still recovering from its trek in the muck, the mud, the blood splatters of murder(s), the deep trenches of war; it has seen a lifetime of pain. And now this indignity, a deep crease in the sleeve by the door forced closed onto it saving its wearer from further injury at its own painful detriment..)]
Ah...haa... [He pulls his hand out pretty quickly, stretching his fingers and rubbing at his wrist with his scarred hand. He looks up from where he'd sat on the floor and sees a splash of orange and a darker color before him.]
Um. Thank you, I ah. It proved quicker than me in this instance.
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(The poor love-worn leather jacket is still recovering from its trek in the muck, the mud, the blood splatters of murder(s), the deep trenches of war; it has seen a lifetime of pain. And now this indignity, a deep crease in the sleeve by the door forced closed onto it saving its wearer from further injury at its own painful detriment..)]
Ah...haa... [He pulls his hand out pretty quickly, stretching his fingers and rubbing at his wrist with his scarred hand. He looks up from where he'd sat on the floor and sees a splash of orange and a darker color before him.]
Um. Thank you, I ah. It proved quicker than me in this instance.