[he heaves a sigh and then takes a cautious swallow of the liquor; he stole a sip of Sorey's earlier, so he's prepared for the taste and the burn of it going down, but his eyes still water a bit. that stuff is strong. no wonder Sorey and Alisha are laid out already. it gives him an excuse to be quiet for a bit, though, putting some of his whirling thoughts together]
They are friendship things, though. I mean...I suppose they don't really look that way from outside-- [now that he thinks about it?] --but. I don't know. It's...hard to wrap my head around, that people thought we were--
Wait, really all of you? Zaveid betting? Edna?
[god, he doesn't really want an answer. he doesn't quite want to think about that (and it's not just the surface indignation; he's still pretty homesick for them.) instead, he shifts his seat a bit so he can balance Sorey and the bottle more comfortably, and takes another drink. it goes down a little easier the second time.]
I mean...what am I supposed to say? I don't know if he'd want to. I don't know if I want to. We'd both have to...think about it...talk about it...?
[he's getting a little less stuttery and a little more thoughtful as he goes on. none if it's an objection exactly; he has no visceral recoil reaction from the thought of, say, kissing Sorey. it's just a new, strange shape in his overanalytical head, one that hasn't quite found its place.
he vaguely wishes the others were awake; it's odd to have this revelation that involves the two of them come to just him, first. but at the same time, well, both of them trying to sort this out while drinking seems like it might've been its own sort of disaster. all right. maybe it's for the best things fell out this way, talking to Rose first.
Rose. he stops looking into the mouth of the bottle and finally looks up at her again. when in doubt: debate a little.]
no subject
They are friendship things, though. I mean...I suppose they don't really look that way from outside-- [now that he thinks about it?] --but. I don't know. It's...hard to wrap my head around, that people thought we were--
Wait, really all of you? Zaveid betting? Edna?
[god, he doesn't really want an answer. he doesn't quite want to think about that (and it's not just the surface indignation; he's still pretty homesick for them.) instead, he shifts his seat a bit so he can balance Sorey and the bottle more comfortably, and takes another drink. it goes down a little easier the second time.]
I mean...what am I supposed to say? I don't know if he'd want to. I don't know if I want to. We'd both have to...think about it...talk about it...?
[he's getting a little less stuttery and a little more thoughtful as he goes on. none if it's an objection exactly; he has no visceral recoil reaction from the thought of, say, kissing Sorey. it's just a new, strange shape in his overanalytical head, one that hasn't quite found its place.
he vaguely wishes the others were awake; it's odd to have this revelation that involves the two of them come to just him, first. but at the same time, well, both of them trying to sort this out while drinking seems like it might've been its own sort of disaster. all right. maybe it's for the best things fell out this way, talking to Rose first.
Rose. he stops looking into the mouth of the bottle and finally looks up at her again. when in doubt: debate a little.]
Have you ever wanted to? How did you know?