"Martin deserves that," Tim says with a cold efficiency, and something underhanded that does not say but does mean I don't know if you do. He doesn't think of Jon as a monster, not in the way that some of the things they researched, some of the things they saw, were. But it's an aching sort of realization that things had been bad before, and they'd only gotten worse.
They only keep getting worse.
He doesn't think ill of Daisy for that turn; it's a choice of protection or death, it sounds like, and he doesn't know her, doesn't understand it, but he doesn't need to. Basira just sounds like more of that pragmatism; tracking her down for what, but Tim doesn't ask. He thinks of the people in Research and Artefact Storage, the ones that were left behind, the ones that were disposable to creatures acting like they were so much grater than the rest of them.
It's just exhausting.
"You want a second one?" he asks, getting up to get himself yet another drink. He almost stumbles, but manages to keep his feet neatly.
no subject
They only keep getting worse.
He doesn't think ill of Daisy for that turn; it's a choice of protection or death, it sounds like, and he doesn't know her, doesn't understand it, but he doesn't need to. Basira just sounds like more of that pragmatism; tracking her down for what, but Tim doesn't ask. He thinks of the people in Research and Artefact Storage, the ones that were left behind, the ones that were disposable to creatures acting like they were so much grater than the rest of them.
It's just exhausting.
"You want a second one?" he asks, getting up to get himself yet another drink. He almost stumbles, but manages to keep his feet neatly.