[It isn't like he had any doubts that Frank could be a machine; anyone can if pushed to it. But the way he attacks the concrete without falter, without hesitation, without slowing from exhaustion or needing to catch his breath, is...impressive. Gets a hell of a lot more done than a crowbar, that's for sure. Man's got a drive to survive, have to grant him that.
He can see the way that even now, into the dirt underneath, Frank still seems to be sinking, the quicksand, the fucking soup, still hungry to make him a permanent part of the landscape. Neither tool is any good for digging, incidentally. Clint foregoes the offered hand and grips his arm instead, one on the forearm, one on the upper arm. Feet planted on terra firma, at least for the moment, and pulling.]
no subject
He can see the way that even now, into the dirt underneath, Frank still seems to be sinking, the quicksand, the fucking soup, still hungry to make him a permanent part of the landscape. Neither tool is any good for digging, incidentally. Clint foregoes the offered hand and grips his arm instead, one on the forearm, one on the upper arm. Feet planted on terra firma, at least for the moment, and pulling.]