"Your personality suggests you treat them like piles of horse shit." Axl responded with a snort. "And I've seen how you've treated SOME people." Okay, not many. But some. Mostly just Jackson, and he didn't count, because he was not normal.

"You are much more entertaining than anyone else, don't stop." He shall not admit that he did somewhat enjoy her bullshittery, but he was going to make sure she didn't stop. It was an amusing part of his day that he wished to keep.

Axl was, in fact, trying to wake up his brain- or at least have it come out of its shell. He felt like he was mentally hiding so that the pain didn't hurt as bad, but it wasn't really working. The agony just grew when he stood, tearing through his body in waves. When one subsided for half a second another slammed into him stronger than before.

".... the past odd 1-2 weeks have been utterly delightful, but it was a vacation. This is just back to normal." He stated drily. He had finally made some good memories. Eating what he actually wanted, having a killer snowball fight that he totally won... if he died today, he'd be happy. He wouldn't say something so touchy Feely to her unless badly drunk, but she had given him something no one else had, and for that, he was thankful.

"Seems like a great plan to me." He mumbled. Laying on the floor, that is. As long as they could get out, totally worth it. "All I can do now I slow you down." He said woefully, trying to get his mind off of his fact that his insides were falling and sticking out.

His eyes narrowed to slits as he cut his leg out of his vision, mind momentarily going blank as a far stronger wave slammed into him when he attempted to take a step. To help, he dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand not doing anything. It was about 2.3 seconds before blood started to trickle, proving how hard he was clenching his hand, but if it distracted him- it did what it needed to do.

He put every ounce of wanting to live and strength and will power into walking, and that still didn't seem like enough. Every step made him want to just sit down and wait to be shot. That would be so much easier. Even if he did get out of here, the odds that he survived? Low. Specifically because he could SEE dirt in the wound. Oh shit, he was looking at the wound. He jerked his gaze away and let out a quiet whimper, whether from the effort of not throwing up and staying upright or the pain, who knew. Blood dripped off of his knuckles as he pressed harder. He was not going to give up. That was weak. That was stupid. He was stronger than weak and, according to Norrie, a millimeter ahead of stupid. So he kept moving, even when his leg twisted at a weird angle and his bone practically re-stabbed his own flesh. His eyes about fell out from the effort of not breathing to not scream, but he succeeded and was only 98 percent blinded by the pain. And effort to keep his eyes open. Whatever, he trusted that these two didn't hate him enough to lead him into a trap and dump him there. He probably shouldn't, but he had no other choice. His instincts told him that at least Norrie was going to get them out of there. His head felt heavy as it hung from his neck, eyes barely older as he focused solely on taking a step at the right time. He wasn't even tightening his fist anymore... too much work. His hand hung limply. One step. Pause. One step. Pause. One step. Pause.

"...guilty," she agreed with a sheepish grin. But was it really her fault to use the ever-useful ability to find weaknesses and insecurities to its fullest extent? Nooo.

"Awwwww, thanks," she said with dramatic sappiness. Funny how quickly he went from shuddap to don't shuddap, but if he thought Norrie was entertaining, she wouldn't argue. Best not to try talking sense into him, in that regard.

"Phooey. I hate normal," she grumbled. Normal, in general, just sucked. Why should someone else get to judge your thoughts or behavior just because they were fucking boring? Oscar Wilde, in all his sass and extravagance, probably had the right idea.

"Wonderful," she said dryly. When did she not have at least a half-decent plan? On second thought, best not to answer that. "Womp womp, you're not changing my mind," she said resolutely. Just leave him here..? Norrie hadn't even considered that. It just didn't seem like a reasonable option. Besides, how much faster could she realistically move without him? Not much.

If not for the fact Norrie was trying to focus on keeping Axl upright while still standing herself, watching Jackson creeping cartoonishly would've been amusing; he seemed to be alternating between tiptoeing like a burglar and a dude in a shitty cop show. Norrie was also pretty sure he was humming the Mission: Impossible theme under his breath, but it was hard to tell.

She glanced up at him worriedly at his little whimper; from what she'd seen of him, he had an incredibly high pain tolerance and wasn't exactly vocal about something hurting.

(I gotta go, sorry it's short again >.<)

Axl snorted quietly. It wasn't hard to guess that correctly, and her sheepish grin just reinforced his view of her. He fully agreed that she was good at treating humans like walking scum.

"Only partially a compliment." He pointed out solemnly, but snickered slightly at her over dramatic tone. (I literally forgot how to spell compliment for a solid 10 seconds. I was like.. con... cont... conti... XD)

As long as she was entertaining, he was happy. Boredom sucked, and his cure for it was blowing stuff up. No one wanted that. Well, he wanted that, but most normal people didn't, specifically the people who owned the shit he wanted to blow up.

"Normal usually sucks." He agreed with a slow nod. Normal for him really sucked. Pain pain blood broken bone possible more suffering pain pain blood repeat. He had loved the not normal. He had eaten, almost slept... it was great. Snowball fight and all.

"Okay okay, fine, but still. It seems harder." He mumbled. He felt like a damn dead weight, considering Norrie now had to carry her whole weight and half of his. He vaguely wondered if he could summon his wings or some shit, cause they were gone. Apparently the captors had figured out how to get them off. He thought he had installed a cool techy come to me command but he didn't remember what the fuck it was. "Strawberry. Chicken pot pie. Rigatoni. Fettuccine. Grape juice." He muttered under his breath, frowning slightly when nothing happened. Great, now it seemed like he had a head injury.

He bit the inside of his cheek and kept dragging himself along the best he could, swallowing down yet another wave of bile. Disgusting. "Oh! Chimichanga!" He suddenly gasped. There was a nearby crash, then something silver went flying towards them. His eyes widened. "Fuck- duck." He jerked Norrie down, the projectile very sharp wings missing them by a couple inches and slamming into a wall before falling limp. Axl winced at the pain washing through him, but he was more focused on the wings. "... guess I got a couple programming bugs to work out..." He said a wee bit sheepishly, blinking for a moment before reaching out with his bloody free hand and grabbing them, managing to haul them up enough that they attached. "As soon as we get outside, I'll try to fly... landing may be difficult, but in the air, I should be relatively fine." He said slowly. Actually, it'd probably hurt like hell and he may never land, but he could survey the area and get them out as safely as possible. Until then, his wings practically dragged on the ground, as he didn't want to waste any energy. They were heavy.

"Eh, potayto potahto, still a compliment," she snorted. (omg real T-T and it doesn't help that compliment and complement are two different words and can't be used interchangeably Dx)

"That's why there was a whole-ass Spongebob episode about how being normal was boring and shitty," she said. That one... along with a few others... may have fucked with her head a little bit as a kid. Not NEARLY as much as watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang did, though. (Movie recap cuz hot damn)

"Easy's usually about the same as normal," she countered pointedly. Besides, that's leave her to deal with Jackson by herself, who alone was usually dead weight. He was, amazingly, doing well for once. Norrie wasn't particularly confident it'd last, but she'd enjoy it while it did. "Are you, like, casting spells or something?" she asked dubiously. "Obtuse, rubber goose, green moose, guava juice, giant snake, birthday cake, large fries, chocolate shake," she added experimentally. It wasn't like she was expecting Cosmo and Wanda to show up, but you never know.

"What does that have to do with an-" her question turned into a half yelp, half oof as he tugged her down. It fucked with her equilibrium a frustrating amount, but when she saw why he'd done it, she figured being a test dummy the world's first automated horizontal guillotine would've been far worse.

"Just a few," she mused. "Why chimichanga, though? Like, of the millions of possible words, chimi-fuckin-changa," she snorted. As a word, though, it did have a nice cadence, minimal chance of it being said accidentally in the case that that's a problem, yet easily remembered, so she couldn't make fun of him too much for that choice.

"Riiiight...... um, come again? I seem to have missed the good idea," she said, wrinkling her nose. Well, alright, part of it was okay, but he'd have to be an Olympic gymnast or something to have any hope of landing decently. Which... he wasn't. Unless he was some double-agent type shit. He'd either a) make his already broken bone(s) worse, or b) break more bones. Neither sounded particularly pleasant or easily manageable. Well, none of their situation was, really, but best not to make it any worse, right?

Jackson seemed to have a decent enough idea of the layout of the building already, though Norrie did catch him a few times stopping, looking confused, before visibly making up his mind and carrying on with more confidence than she'd seen in him probably ever.

Eventually, they made it outside, and the glare of the sun hit with about as much force as a sledgehammer, and Norrie imagined the headache she suffered now would be about the same as said hammer. She grimaced and winced, waiting for it to subside enough to think again. Once it did, she directed her attention to Jackson. "Okay, now where?"

He looked around, squinted at the horizon, and looked for all the world like a medieval astronomer using the stars and planets to guide his path. After a minute or two, he said simply, "I dunno." Back to his usual level of helpfulness, it seemed. Norrie didn't have the energy to be annoyed at him.