[From here, because Tumblr, and because entire too much and yet also not enough thinking.]
He has no idea what to expect, and still he manages to be surprised into stillness. It’s hardly a bad thing to be aware and present and listening, but the first surprise is not being turned away. The second, rapid-fire, is unspoken invitation, followed by (what feels to be, sounds to be) a genuine companionable response.
Not just a response, an invitation to share the whiskey along with invitation to converse. It’s-- Not good or bad. But doesn’t feel quite neutral, either. Listen. Watch. Learn.
He’d been aware, those eyes on him. He’d been aware of his own instincts, and regardless of how many and how large those mistakes may have been in the past, he’s learned enough about what to drift toward. He can never quite define why until it’s too late, still a distance from truly relaxing. He supposes he must look quite a picture, surprised by the shot glass as much as anything else, taking hold delicately as if it might reach out and try to bite him. He’s too busy listening to drink, picking words apart, tone, digging for detail. Trying to offer none of his own even if he’s sure that’s quite impossible. The eye contact in particular feels akin to being watched by a predator who isn’t hungry just now, maybe later. That’s fine. A bite for the road, maybe.
Odd to find his throat suddenly dry when a response is expected. He hasn’t so much as taken a sip, nevermind trying to knock back the shot, but not... not yet. Not yet. “To speak from experience, I might say the most dangerous of monsters might spare patience for considering as many ideas as might be useful to them.” But that’s only half an answer.
He considers the alcohol again. With his gaze, turning the glass between his fingers, the sharp smell so close to his nose. “I’d venture to say that wondering if you’re a monster doesn’t mean you aren’t one.” But the logic, the reasoning... it slips through his fingers, and he doesn’t even have alcohol to blame.
Chancing a glance up, eye contact again, he’s wary of staying past his welcome. A few minutes of philosophical conversation might be entertaining, sure, but it might get personal. Both the truth and carefully woven lies are dangerous. “Can a monster change direction? Can a monster want to?”
