[ He'd already known that Amos was some genuine sci-fi bullshit, but -- still. The way he so casually talks about regrowing fingers and arms is hard to even digest. How the hell does he respond to something like that? Even the vague hypothetical thought of somehow getting his arm back makes an uneasy spike or something prickle through the pit of his stomach, and he tries to figure out what it is. Longing, probably. Or jealousy. With some disbelief, maybe.
(It's entirely all envy, though he wouldn't admit it.)
Gen had taken another deep drag at his cigarette to nurse the comforting, acerbic tang of the smoke, and is dragged from his thoughts with a coughing fit at Amos' suggestion, doubling over for a moment as he tries to clear his throat. ]
... a knife? [ His eyes are a little watery when he looks up, but that was a reflexive result of the coughing, right? Right. It's not like Gen's face has gone a touch paler, and there's an awkward pause as he swallows hard, seeming to struggle to catch his breath before he can form any words again. ] Nah. I've had enough of knives for a while. -- I'm fine.
[ His cigarette draws a serpentine line of smoke in the air as he waves his hand dismissively. Maybe it helps mask the way there's the slightest tremor at his fingertips, something he tries not to think about himself. -- don't think, he reminds himself. Don't think about that. He's fine, he has to be fine, like six years back. He has to pretend to be normal. So -- ]
You know that's messed up though, right? [ There's an abrupt shift in conversation, because it's easier that way. Needle at someone else's weak spots instead, so he doesn't have to address his own. Gen manages to meet Amos' eyes once more as he continues flatly, ] You being the only one getting shot at, if that's the kind of shit that was happening. Losing hands, arms. Why was that?
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(It's entirely all envy, though he wouldn't admit it.)
Gen had taken another deep drag at his cigarette to nurse the comforting, acerbic tang of the smoke, and is dragged from his thoughts with a coughing fit at Amos' suggestion, doubling over for a moment as he tries to clear his throat. ]
... a knife? [ His eyes are a little watery when he looks up, but that was a reflexive result of the coughing, right? Right. It's not like Gen's face has gone a touch paler, and there's an awkward pause as he swallows hard, seeming to struggle to catch his breath before he can form any words again. ] Nah. I've had enough of knives for a while. -- I'm fine.
[ His cigarette draws a serpentine line of smoke in the air as he waves his hand dismissively. Maybe it helps mask the way there's the slightest tremor at his fingertips, something he tries not to think about himself. -- don't think, he reminds himself. Don't think about that. He's fine, he has to be fine, like six years back. He has to pretend to be normal. So -- ]
You know that's messed up though, right? [ There's an abrupt shift in conversation, because it's easier that way. Needle at someone else's weak spots instead, so he doesn't have to address his own. Gen manages to meet Amos' eyes once more as he continues flatly, ] You being the only one getting shot at, if that's the kind of shit that was happening. Losing hands, arms. Why was that?