Who knows, maybe I'll grow up to be just like you. Might even inherit the legs.
( He doesn't like it — the scrutiny, the curiously inhuman watchfulness. His fingers beat out a nervous rhythm against the table thought. His index finger slides into a puddle of his spilled drink, and he flinches back into the cradle of his chair.
But he smiles, a curl of a mouth long accustomed to adopting smile after smile after meaningless smile. It's more than he's offered, as it stands. )
no subject
( He doesn't like it — the scrutiny, the curiously inhuman watchfulness. His fingers beat out a nervous rhythm against the table thought. His index finger slides into a puddle of his spilled drink, and he flinches back into the cradle of his chair.
But he smiles, a curl of a mouth long accustomed to adopting smile after smile after meaningless smile. It's more than he's offered, as it stands. )
Roy. Roy's just fine. You are?