[ Trust. It pulls at his cheek without the thought to commit to a smile, tugging his mouth up at one corner, marionette. ]
Good. [ Emphatic. Some leftover gladness for the trust oozing into his enjoyment of the game. ] We can agree on that.
[ And he takes a moment here to bask in it. In the colour creeping under Silco's skin, in something new discussed and made real. Not that the conversation's over, but he's lost interest in the meal, and all ten extra meals' worth of sides the staff managed to squeeze onto the table. Wine, then. Another sip, then reaching to top them both up as the few seconds' pause clears out the joy and reminds him that there's more than one conversation that needs having tonight. Just because they've made it through the first doesn't mean he's off the hook for the rest. ]
... I have your history. [ The bones of it, anyway, as it pertains to what they're doing. ] Mine's a little less, uh. [ Past. How to approach it? He's realising - slow, creeping understanding - that the way he's learned to be no longer sits in the comfortable realms of normalcy outside of its context. ] I didn't leave my last life behind on purpose.
[ The start of a point that ends and people have a habit of showing up here. He doesn't get that far, lapses into quiet and his own turn to look uncomfortable, tension clear in his jaw and the skin around his eyes for all he tries to will himself relaxed. It's been all too easy up until today to consider this almost as if it were simple, truly simple, a new shoot in empty soil. Unfortunate, then, to have to take a point to the bubble of that self-delusion. ]
no subject
Good. [ Emphatic. Some leftover gladness for the trust oozing into his enjoyment of the game. ] We can agree on that.
[ And he takes a moment here to bask in it. In the colour creeping under Silco's skin, in something new discussed and made real. Not that the conversation's over, but he's lost interest in the meal, and all ten extra meals' worth of sides the staff managed to squeeze onto the table. Wine, then. Another sip, then reaching to top them both up as the few seconds' pause clears out the joy and reminds him that there's more than one conversation that needs having tonight. Just because they've made it through the first doesn't mean he's off the hook for the rest. ]
... I have your history. [ The bones of it, anyway, as it pertains to what they're doing. ] Mine's a little less, uh. [ Past. How to approach it? He's realising - slow, creeping understanding - that the way he's learned to be no longer sits in the comfortable realms of normalcy outside of its context. ] I didn't leave my last life behind on purpose.
[ The start of a point that ends and people have a habit of showing up here. He doesn't get that far, lapses into quiet and his own turn to look uncomfortable, tension clear in his jaw and the skin around his eyes for all he tries to will himself relaxed. It's been all too easy up until today to consider this almost as if it were simple, truly simple, a new shoot in empty soil. Unfortunate, then, to have to take a point to the bubble of that self-delusion. ]