[Paul leans slightly into the hand brushed against his shoulder without thinking of it, then surges upright to make his way across to the chair as if galvanized by it. He tosses himself into the seat like a coat and fills his mug with cold tea twice, chugging it down enthusiastically. He refills both of their mugs the third time, leans back to sip this round more slowly.
With his thirst refreshed, he can of course continue talking. His knee bounces slightly as he does, as if he's compelled to disperse stored energy.]
Bene Tleilaxu. Flesh crafters, but not like that. I'll tell you another time, I promise. [He shakes his head, nearly giddy sounding. Endorphins and relief are a potent cocktail.] You already live in one of them. Like it's nothing!
I hated that. Not the - [a vague gesturing deskwards] - before that. I let it get away from me, and I should have...
[A nudge of memory from the ice. Paul heaves himself up slightly so he can lean over the side of his chair, reaching down to his satchel leaning against a back leg. He pulls it into his lap and rummages through it, producing a heel end of bread wrapped in wax paper he exchanges for the knife he left out, which goes into the bag instead of back on his wrist.]
no subject
[Paul leans slightly into the hand brushed against his shoulder without thinking of it, then surges upright to make his way across to the chair as if galvanized by it. He tosses himself into the seat like a coat and fills his mug with cold tea twice, chugging it down enthusiastically. He refills both of their mugs the third time, leans back to sip this round more slowly.
With his thirst refreshed, he can of course continue talking. His knee bounces slightly as he does, as if he's compelled to disperse stored energy.]
Bene Tleilaxu. Flesh crafters, but not like that. I'll tell you another time, I promise. [He shakes his head, nearly giddy sounding. Endorphins and relief are a potent cocktail.] You already live in one of them. Like it's nothing!
I hated that. Not the - [a vague gesturing deskwards] - before that. I let it get away from me, and I should have...
[A nudge of memory from the ice. Paul heaves himself up slightly so he can lean over the side of his chair, reaching down to his satchel leaning against a back leg. He pulls it into his lap and rummages through it, producing a heel end of bread wrapped in wax paper he exchanges for the knife he left out, which goes into the bag instead of back on his wrist.]
...I didn't think there was anyone I could ask.