[ The great thing about contagion-afflicted apathy is that, once it sinks its claws deep into him, he finds he doesn't care about anything. About the people slowly wasting away in Venera, about the feathers sprouting willy-nilly from his skin, and especially not about the disturbance that would usually stem from another person invading his personal sanctuary.
Instead of annoyance or a scowl or any of the fifty things Lottie probably expects from him, Eustace instead waves one arm, the feathers dangling off his arm and hand rustling against each other. He seems, if not happier, then at least more content than she's ever seen him, all his usual tension drained from his body. ]
Go ahead. There's plenty of space.
[ Assuming she can find space between the bales of hay and the assorted farmyard tools scattered around. ]
no subject
Instead of annoyance or a scowl or any of the fifty things Lottie probably expects from him, Eustace instead waves one arm, the feathers dangling off his arm and hand rustling against each other. He seems, if not happier, then at least more content than she's ever seen him, all his usual tension drained from his body. ]
Go ahead. There's plenty of space.
[ Assuming she can find space between the bales of hay and the assorted farmyard tools scattered around. ]