[This kid, Will realizes, has major social issues. That's not a judgment, either. Will has his own problems with being social, would rather be left alone with his dogs and boat parts than at any gathering. It might have been a morbid thought, but the only real group activity that would be palatable to him would probably be a funeral.
Everyone silenced, muted, coming together to watch someone they loved (or tolerated, or outright hated but came to see off out of obligation) get put in the ground. There was no need to fake smiles or pretend like he enjoyed anyone's company. It was a social meeting that require little that was actually social. He could handle looking absolutely miserable.
What a hideous thing to even think.
The mention of Sirius eating his shoelaces is far more appetizing than getting out of the house, going to a funeral, and calling it his social outing of the year. It flashes behind his eyes easily enough (active imagination and all), but he keeps them on that fish, slowly but steadily getting right where he wants it. He lets Neville take and makes no mention of what he thinks about Albus, because there's plenty of unkind things he'd say if he was being honest. It's not until he apologizes and offers to call him something else (like what, non-magical human being that we sort of frown down upon back home?) that he looks back at him, partly incredulous and partly actually thinking about it.]
It's what I am when you label me by the language of your world, so I don't mind it. [But it still sounds like something weak and easily eradicated; he hardly likes that.] I'd prefer it if you just called me Will from now on. [Not Mister Graham, not the punch to the gut of Doctor Graham or Special Agent, not the dreaded William, none of it. He has no doubt that if he's ever mentioned, his being a Muggle will come up. Saying he'd like to be called by his name is better than saying he'd like to be referred to as a human being; they seem to be aware that some of the thoughts on these Muggles aren't so tasty when spoken to them. Rubbing that in the face of a kid who'd just had his arm burned and was thrown into a fray with people he did not in any way get along with? Not very fair. Also not something he could stop no matter where he was.] You like a little spice? Or mostly plain?
[He's not lingering on the subject of what he is or isn't (being a Muggle would be much better than being an intelligent psychopath). He recognizes that fish in the leaner, healthier choice, he truly does.
He's just not telling that his recipe is a little fattening. A lot fattening, actually. He's from the South, for pity's sake.
no subject
Everyone silenced, muted, coming together to watch someone they loved (or tolerated, or outright hated but came to see off out of obligation) get put in the ground. There was no need to fake smiles or pretend like he enjoyed anyone's company. It was a social meeting that require little that was actually social. He could handle looking absolutely miserable.
What a hideous thing to even think.
The mention of Sirius eating his shoelaces is far more appetizing than getting out of the house, going to a funeral, and calling it his social outing of the year. It flashes behind his eyes easily enough (active imagination and all), but he keeps them on that fish, slowly but steadily getting right where he wants it. He lets Neville take and makes no mention of what he thinks about Albus, because there's plenty of unkind things he'd say if he was being honest. It's not until he apologizes and offers to call him something else (like what, non-magical human being that we sort of frown down upon back home?) that he looks back at him, partly incredulous and partly actually thinking about it.]
It's what I am when you label me by the language of your world, so I don't mind it. [But it still sounds like something weak and easily eradicated; he hardly likes that.] I'd prefer it if you just called me Will from now on. [Not Mister Graham, not the punch to the gut of Doctor Graham or Special Agent, not the dreaded William, none of it. He has no doubt that if he's ever mentioned, his being a Muggle will come up. Saying he'd like to be called by his name is better than saying he'd like to be referred to as a human being; they seem to be aware that some of the thoughts on these Muggles aren't so tasty when spoken to them. Rubbing that in the face of a kid who'd just had his arm burned and was thrown into a fray with people he did not in any way get along with? Not very fair. Also not something he could stop no matter where he was.] You like a little spice? Or mostly plain?
[He's not lingering on the subject of what he is or isn't (being a Muggle would be much better than being an intelligent psychopath). He recognizes that fish in the leaner, healthier choice, he truly does.
He's just not telling that his recipe is a little fattening. A lot fattening, actually. He's from the South, for pity's sake.
Artery's sake.]