[ They don't interject at first. Letting him get his thoughts out seems like the better idea. ]
... They're right. [ A sigh. ] I don't know where any of us would be without either of them, at this point.
[ For a long moment that's all they say, still fussing over the cups as they are. Tea for them, sweetened to hell and back like always, and a cup of that soul-black nightmarish stuff that Will claims is coffee, the veracity of which they doubt immensely, for Mista. There's no salvaging the taste, and it'd take too long to make a fresh pot — if they even knew where the less awful coffee was.
So they make two trips, one to pick somewhere to put the coffee and sugar near-ish in case he needs to kill it, the other finally with their own cup. The wait gives them time to pick over their next words carefully. ]
I had no right to get involved in the first place. [ For their part, they perch delicately on the sole, lifeless couch in the room, because if they're picking apart feelings then they should be comfortable. ] Much less react the way I did. I'm not... it's not a medium for conversation that I'm used to, but that doesn't excuse my actions.
[ There's something uniquely terrifying about both being able to re-read an entire conversation in a moment, and reply to it in that same moment without both seeing the other person or having the time to think about what someone is saying. They don't know how anyone from a later time period can handle it so casually. ]
... That 'somebody', it's... who you planted those flowers for, isn't it?
[ Finally, finally, they look across at him, even if their voice is hesitant to match. Wary of saying the wrong thing again, like handling a spooked animal. ]
no subject
... They're right. [ A sigh. ] I don't know where any of us would be without either of them, at this point.
[ For a long moment that's all they say, still fussing over the cups as they are. Tea for them, sweetened to hell and back like always, and a cup of that soul-black nightmarish stuff that Will claims is coffee, the veracity of which they doubt immensely, for Mista. There's no salvaging the taste, and it'd take too long to make a fresh pot — if they even knew where the less awful coffee was.
So they make two trips, one to pick somewhere to put the coffee and sugar near-ish in case he needs to kill it, the other finally with their own cup. The wait gives them time to pick over their next words carefully. ]
I had no right to get involved in the first place. [ For their part, they perch delicately on the sole, lifeless couch in the room, because if they're picking apart feelings then they should be comfortable. ] Much less react the way I did. I'm not... it's not a medium for conversation that I'm used to, but that doesn't excuse my actions.
[ There's something uniquely terrifying about both being able to re-read an entire conversation in a moment, and reply to it in that same moment without both seeing the other person or having the time to think about what someone is saying. They don't know how anyone from a later time period can handle it so casually. ]
... That 'somebody', it's... who you planted those flowers for, isn't it?
[ Finally, finally, they look across at him, even if their voice is hesitant to match. Wary of saying the wrong thing again, like handling a spooked animal. ]