Isaac stares–– - nearly glares back at Stross. The man looks nearly unrecognizable at present, the look he’d had in his eyes during The Sprawl outbreak had been a hazy one, a frightening one. He was tormented and broken by his own inner demons made real by the marker’s signal but now no trace of that existing within the scientist, then again he’s probably gotten good at hiding it.
Exhaling deeply he rubs at his forehead, his hand sliding down his face to rest over his mouth. Isaac flicks his gaze away from Stross, a small part of him hates the other. He looks…remarkably put together, no doubt thanks to the government getting him help for all the shit the Marker did to him. HE on the other hand can barely afford anything resembling a psychiatrist. Instead, he focuses, obsessives, over one thing or another to keep him occupied; to make him forget.
❝ Okay… well, HERE I AM. You see me, your curiosity satisfied yet? ❞
Stross’ gaze doesn’t focus on the man’s face anymore, rather takes to wandering over Clarke’s form. It’s more observation than anything, harmless really, and better than meeting almost glares and what he assumes is resentment. What for exactly, well, it could be any number of reasons.
“No,” he answers plainly. “I would like to help you as you once did for me. You kept me alive despite my obviously worsening condition.” Stross takes a careful step forward and then another until a foot of space separates them. He wants to offer solace, for Clarke to know that he does understand what he’s going through and this isn’t out of pity. Never out of pity.
“I know you might be wary accepting, but this medication makes living bearable.” He debates placing a hand on the man’s shoulder or bicep and squeezing gently-- it’s suppose to be a comforting gesture, although Clarke might find the opposite from him. Stross swallows and ends up taking a step back, head turning to look elsewhere.
“Please take a few days to think about it, I can give you my contact information in the meantime.”
