William's eyes move uneasily across the Englishman's face. Not panicking or anything quite like that, but distantly concerned about the intra-mutant conflict going on. He doesn't mind, of course, or at least he doesn't think himself sufficiently entitled to Charles' help, or urgent about his task, to be annoyed, himself. Of late, he has been enjoying the complacency that comes of having largely accepted his fate. It helps to have a small and light side of hope. Vegan hope. Low calories.
"It's a tough spot," he says, a touch of agreement in his voice. Dimly, he suspects he should be fighting harder for this, maybe have fabricated some sort of story about the psychic pain of the severed connection or something like that-- maybe Charles would believe that, if anybody could. It seems wrong to be dishonest, though, and he can't even in good conscience rate highly his guesstimated probability that he will feel much better if Guangtou is back. After all that has happened, he feels the least he owes Charles is not to lie, and embellish minimally. The most dishonest he can think to try is to look more human, so he scratches his leg a bit, opts not to fart, and then walks back toward the open window-door.
He doesn't go back inside. Just rests his back against the wall, glancing at the gardens, giving him some space. The nature of mutation, to stand on its own and define its owner, seems very different. "If you want to think about it for longer, I understand," he says. "I won't be a cock about it. I'm pretty sure I've got time, and it probably doesn't matter at all to Guangtou, whatever the fuck he's doing now." Making out with local girl demons. Or boy demons. He hopes that he isn't sucking face with the Tranquility's former inhabitant, however.
no subject
"It's a tough spot," he says, a touch of agreement in his voice. Dimly, he suspects he should be fighting harder for this, maybe have fabricated some sort of story about the psychic pain of the severed connection or something like that-- maybe Charles would believe that, if anybody could. It seems wrong to be dishonest, though, and he can't even in good conscience rate highly his guesstimated probability that he will feel much better if Guangtou is back. After all that has happened, he feels the least he owes Charles is not to lie, and embellish minimally. The most dishonest he can think to try is to look more human, so he scratches his leg a bit, opts not to fart, and then walks back toward the open window-door.
He doesn't go back inside. Just rests his back against the wall, glancing at the gardens, giving him some space. The nature of mutation, to stand on its own and define its owner, seems very different. "If you want to think about it for longer, I understand," he says. "I won't be a cock about it. I'm pretty sure I've got time, and it probably doesn't matter at all to Guangtou, whatever the fuck he's doing now." Making out with local girl demons. Or boy demons. He hopes that he isn't sucking face with the Tranquility's former inhabitant, however.