[Paul doesn't know what he's doing. His father was the romantic in the family, and even then, anything like this - so unstructured, so outside the realms of balanced power and formal arrangement - would have been out of the question. There are rules for this like there are for everything else. Paul isn't following any of them.
Instead, he follows the rising flush on Kaworu's cheeks with fascination, the spiking of his heartbeat a distant secondary observation. He follows the breathless tumbling syllables out of Kaworu's mouth.]
Come on, then. Let's do some applied theology. What are drunken angels like?
[He's tired of following the rules of a place he's not. He's tired of thinking everything out to its end. He's tired of knowing what will happen next, and he's tired of being wrong about what he knows.
So Paul pulls him towards the worm mural and the attendant shot passing skeleton, and he lets himself enjoy being surprised.]
no subject
Instead, he follows the rising flush on Kaworu's cheeks with fascination, the spiking of his heartbeat a distant secondary observation. He follows the breathless tumbling syllables out of Kaworu's mouth.]
Come on, then. Let's do some applied theology. What are drunken angels like?
[He's tired of following the rules of a place he's not. He's tired of thinking everything out to its end. He's tired of knowing what will happen next, and he's tired of being wrong about what he knows.
So Paul pulls him towards the worm mural and the attendant shot passing skeleton, and he lets himself enjoy being surprised.]