[A wry smile perks when Will begins to lists the cliches associated with scientists and doctors. All true things; all terms that he has been accused of being by his detractors. He intentionally keeps that guard up because it's the easiest way to go on. Especially in a world where the people may as well be museum dummies, all long gone in his eyes, oh but he does care. That's just the one thing he so rarely can ever let on. It's just that his care is selective and picked with careful caution.
Getting attached is just too messy. He can cut a thread, but he doesn't like feeling something when he does it.
When the fries get nudged over his eyes flick up to Will for a moment, a silent ask if he's sure, and then takes a couple between his thumb and index fingers. His own small basket of fries is just about gone, but he's not full and he can tell when he bites into them and has to restrain from beginning to binge himself on them. Never really satisfied in his hunger and if he eats too fast it might look strange. Appearances have to be kept up when people are watching. Once he swallows he speaks again.]
Types are just the easiest way people categorize the world around them. I don't particularly care for it either, but even I fall prey into using them before I think twice. It's not something I'm proud of. [He cants his head and puts a hand to his chin.] Maybe that's just the problem in the end. We put someone into a type and we expect them to meet all those qualifications. When that doesn't happen, we feel betrayed. It's not pleasant, but you can't quite blame that on the person you categorized in your own head.
[Maybe that's why everyone got so upset when they learned the truth and couldn't quite forgive him. They were expecting what he wanted them to and couldn't live with what the reality is.]
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Getting attached is just too messy. He can cut a thread, but he doesn't like feeling something when he does it.
When the fries get nudged over his eyes flick up to Will for a moment, a silent ask if he's sure, and then takes a couple between his thumb and index fingers. His own small basket of fries is just about gone, but he's not full and he can tell when he bites into them and has to restrain from beginning to binge himself on them. Never really satisfied in his hunger and if he eats too fast it might look strange. Appearances have to be kept up when people are watching. Once he swallows he speaks again.]
Types are just the easiest way people categorize the world around them. I don't particularly care for it either, but even I fall prey into using them before I think twice. It's not something I'm proud of. [He cants his head and puts a hand to his chin.] Maybe that's just the problem in the end. We put someone into a type and we expect them to meet all those qualifications. When that doesn't happen, we feel betrayed. It's not pleasant, but you can't quite blame that on the person you categorized in your own head.
[Maybe that's why everyone got so upset when they learned the truth and couldn't quite forgive him. They were expecting what he wanted them to and couldn't live with what the reality is.]