[ He realizes, with this second bubbling-over of joy, that it's not a sound he really hears from her that often. The thought doesn't make him sad so much as he thinks it, in a remote way, yet another commonality. He's more easily pulled by the sway of his emotions, even if he'd never admit it, but he wasn't exactly born into mirth, either. So he doesn't stop her when she comes to rest more fully on his lap, instead resting his hand along the curve of her jaw.
(Would he have been less lonely, with a sister? Would Vought have turned them against each other?)
There's only one point upon which his thoughts catch — I'm no holy warrior, I am a god — but the conversation moves on quickly enough. ]
Lucky duck.
[ He doesn't understand all of what she's saying, but context furnishes the spaces left empty by his still-rudimentary knowledge of the world she and Paul hail from, and the baseline's clear enough. As he sees it, she'd lose a little, but not everything. ]
no subject
(Would he have been less lonely, with a sister? Would Vought have turned them against each other?)
There's only one point upon which his thoughts catch — I'm no holy warrior, I am a god — but the conversation moves on quickly enough. ]
Lucky duck.
[ He doesn't understand all of what she's saying, but context furnishes the spaces left empty by his still-rudimentary knowledge of the world she and Paul hail from, and the baseline's clear enough. As he sees it, she'd lose a little, but not everything. ]
How far can you see? How clearly?