[Johnny and Robby's clash, Daniel's shifting expressions. Most people would have to focus on one or the another at a time, and miss details of each. Not enough to misunderstand what they're seeing, as the people clustered around this platform will be able to attest to, but enough to not catch the wholeness of either. But Paul has a mentat's knack for splitting attention, and he can watch the impact of each word on Daniel's face at the same time he watches Robby turn his accusing gaze on his father.
The world slows down, time flowing in crystallizing slush. Paul stops shivering. He moving at all, even to breathe, a lapse of discipline so basic it's almost unthinkable.
But so is the ugly scene in front of him. So is what happens when he's at the cusp of trying to intervene, shoulders setting in an aching line, only for Daniel to pulse the lightest reassurance into them with words that stun the breath back into him. He says he trusts Paul, but they both know the last few minutes have proven he shouldn't. What Daniel means is to ask if Paul can be someone Daniel can trust for the next few minutes not to make things worse - or that's how it sounds to Paul, resonating with memories he doesn't want to bring anywhere near any of this.
When Daniel pulls away, he takes a weight with him Paul didn't know was there to take. The relief of pressure (to step in, to step up, to deflect and defend and defuse) might be better if its absence didn't well up with all the things he's trying not to feel. A murky jumble of exhaustion, pain, and shame sinks in, and he ducks his head to wipe a smear of blood that shines like mercury away from his mouth. He sees the guardian Omen's leap onto the platform through the tangled fringe of his hair, but its voice commands his attention like Daniel's did, lifting him back up from the verge of closing in on himself.
After the Omen's order, he looks at Johnny. There's no pleading in the look, or fear, or disappointment. There's not even anger or coldness. It's just a look, weary and lopsided from the swelling forming around his left eye, waiting to see what Johnny does next.]
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The world slows down, time flowing in crystallizing slush. Paul stops shivering. He moving at all, even to breathe, a lapse of discipline so basic it's almost unthinkable.
But so is the ugly scene in front of him. So is what happens when he's at the cusp of trying to intervene, shoulders setting in an aching line, only for Daniel to pulse the lightest reassurance into them with words that stun the breath back into him. He says he trusts Paul, but they both know the last few minutes have proven he shouldn't. What Daniel means is to ask if Paul can be someone Daniel can trust for the next few minutes not to make things worse - or that's how it sounds to Paul, resonating with memories he doesn't want to bring anywhere near any of this.
When Daniel pulls away, he takes a weight with him Paul didn't know was there to take. The relief of pressure (to step in, to step up, to deflect and defend and defuse) might be better if its absence didn't well up with all the things he's trying not to feel. A murky jumble of exhaustion, pain, and shame sinks in, and he ducks his head to wipe a smear of blood that shines like mercury away from his mouth. He sees the guardian Omen's leap onto the platform through the tangled fringe of his hair, but its voice commands his attention like Daniel's did, lifting him back up from the verge of closing in on himself.
After the Omen's order, he looks at Johnny. There's no pleading in the look, or fear, or disappointment. There's not even anger or coldness. It's just a look, weary and lopsided from the swelling forming around his left eye, waiting to see what Johnny does next.]