Despite himself, the way he feels as though he has stepped back away from the outwards operations of his physical body, staring down at Daniel as if through magnified glass—
Not a laugh, exactly. A breath, shaped as one, the corner of his mouth in a brief and subtle uptick. Daniel asking questions, circling back, offering riposte while his body is processing its death, while it grows into something else.
It's probably too much to ask for that to be accepted as a full answer, but it nearly is.
"Do you think I don't know when I've been disproven?"
It's close to a real question. He had sat passive, frozen, as eighty years worth of craft was dismantled before him, a sprung airlock, sirens blaring as everything was blown into the void. He had fled Daniel, chasing Louis, and some of the most ridiculous bullshit he can remember himself saying for some time coming out of his mouth, desperate. Childish. So it's only fair to imagine nothing has changed since 1973.
His hands close into fists. He can't touch him. He wouldn't know why he is doing it, right now.
"We can give it a hundred years," is more wry. "Catch up on old times. It would be a shame if you hadn't been able to hold onto what makes you when we do."
no subject
Not a laugh, exactly. A breath, shaped as one, the corner of his mouth in a brief and subtle uptick. Daniel asking questions, circling back, offering riposte while his body is processing its death, while it grows into something else.
It's probably too much to ask for that to be accepted as a full answer, but it nearly is.
"Do you think I don't know when I've been disproven?"
It's close to a real question. He had sat passive, frozen, as eighty years worth of craft was dismantled before him, a sprung airlock, sirens blaring as everything was blown into the void. He had fled Daniel, chasing Louis, and some of the most ridiculous bullshit he can remember himself saying for some time coming out of his mouth, desperate. Childish. So it's only fair to imagine nothing has changed since 1973.
His hands close into fists. He can't touch him. He wouldn't know why he is doing it, right now.
"We can give it a hundred years," is more wry. "Catch up on old times. It would be a shame if you hadn't been able to hold onto what makes you when we do."
Drifting for the bathroom door.