"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.