[ Concentration is a struggle in these narrow tunnels, he finds. The very structure of them seems to bear down around him, closing in on his shoulders and thoughts simultaneously, constricting his mind to the narrow passage and the moment to moment.
(Not an out of ordinary frame of view, perhaps, but he is a systems thinker, a long view scholar, and he finds the inability to branch out further than the touch of a friendly hand or the softly masked worry disconcerting.)
Likewise, it's a battle to open his ears and clear his thoughts enough to capture the remnants of the muttered words exchanged between sentry and seeker. He frowns quietly, self-contained, frustrated in knowing he's likely missed critical information to add to his records. Still, he's granted access to the hideout alongside her, and while he rues the inability to retain the memory of whatever password she's granted, he's grateful for the chance to witness this hidden sect of society.
A very sick, dwindling part of it.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose with the side of his thumb, he offers an apologetic smile on top of an unpleasant truth. ]
You're Westies. They're just enough to keep you alive through it. They won't do much else.
[ A beat. Things he shouldn't say, but he's too damn tired to prevent nonetheless. ]
no subject
(Not an out of ordinary frame of view, perhaps, but he is a systems thinker, a long view scholar, and he finds the inability to branch out further than the touch of a friendly hand or the softly masked worry disconcerting.)
Likewise, it's a battle to open his ears and clear his thoughts enough to capture the remnants of the muttered words exchanged between sentry and seeker. He frowns quietly, self-contained, frustrated in knowing he's likely missed critical information to add to his records. Still, he's granted access to the hideout alongside her, and while he rues the inability to retain the memory of whatever password she's granted, he's grateful for the chance to witness this hidden sect of society.
A very sick, dwindling part of it.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose with the side of his thumb, he offers an apologetic smile on top of an unpleasant truth. ]
You're Westies. They're just enough to keep you alive through it. They won't do much else.
[ A beat. Things he shouldn't say, but he's too damn tired to prevent nonetheless. ]
Sorry. It's the best I could get.