[ How is your experience -- and at once Keith's eyes snap up from the cup's bone-pale rim. Mindless reflex took the cup where Sion'd presented it, but he's still gripping the handle like it's a doorhandle, a hilt. Nothing to drink from, much less to acknowledge. It isn't a question that gets put to Killjoys much: Killjoys succeed because they don't get paid for anything else. A hand twitches at his side, restless to fold his arms together -- but the cup bars that, too.
It's so hard to posture with any kind of dignity at a tea table. ]
If it's got steering, I can figure it out.
[ Is it a promise, a dismissal, a boast? But restlessness sweeps out anything close to a sign -- there's something about the mission that he's missing -- something lost, maybe, beneath Sion's steady hands and the unreadable china-fine curve of his mouth. He's still standing, glass-eyed for the moment it takes to narrow all his steely mistrust into a question. ]
Why wouldn't you just land the ship close to the delivery point?
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It's so hard to posture with any kind of dignity at a tea table. ]
If it's got steering, I can figure it out.
[ Is it a promise, a dismissal, a boast? But restlessness sweeps out anything close to a sign -- there's something about the mission that he's missing -- something lost, maybe, beneath Sion's steady hands and the unreadable china-fine curve of his mouth. He's still standing, glass-eyed for the moment it takes to narrow all his steely mistrust into a question. ]
Why wouldn't you just land the ship close to the delivery point?