From his expression, it's plain that he didn't know about Ambrose jailing any of the Summoned. At the comment that there's always something special, Wilhelm flicks his eyes away to watch nothing in particular but the thickening dark. All that's special about him is the family he happened to be born into — also against his will, he might add. Between the life of a royal and the life of...whatever he's supposed to be here, it's a close contest as to which he's least tailored to. He's lived with this feeling for years, like he's been forced into clothes that don't fit right.
Surprise pulls his gaze back to Jesper. It's also plain enough that he's never met anyone who was part of something as shady as, or as far to the edges of society as, a gang. Despite his best efforts to break free, he has lived in a bubble his whole life. The people who inhabit his pearly, iridescent little world are quick to purge any impurities. Scandal, bankruptcy, the wrong ideologies, all tucked away where they can't be seen. To him, gangs are things that exist in movies. A thrilling fiction, not anyone's reality.
"You're being kind to me," he protests as a counterpoint. Then he squints at Jesper in an exaggerated fashion, jabs an accusatory finger into his shoulder. "Unless you're just tricking me so you can jump me later."
He breaks character fast with a laugh, tipping back more of the concoction in his cup.
"Were you really in a gang?" The question is equal parts curious and incredulous. Jesper is maybe a year or so older than him, about the same age as August. (Though, to Jesper's credit, the comparison with his cousin ends there.) He tries to imagine his cousin, or any of the guys he surrounds himself with, in a gang, and the idea is laughable.
no subject
Surprise pulls his gaze back to Jesper. It's also plain enough that he's never met anyone who was part of something as shady as, or as far to the edges of society as, a gang. Despite his best efforts to break free, he has lived in a bubble his whole life. The people who inhabit his pearly, iridescent little world are quick to purge any impurities. Scandal, bankruptcy, the wrong ideologies, all tucked away where they can't be seen. To him, gangs are things that exist in movies. A thrilling fiction, not anyone's reality.
"You're being kind to me," he protests as a counterpoint. Then he squints at Jesper in an exaggerated fashion, jabs an accusatory finger into his shoulder. "Unless you're just tricking me so you can jump me later."
He breaks character fast with a laugh, tipping back more of the concoction in his cup.
"Were you really in a gang?" The question is equal parts curious and incredulous. Jesper is maybe a year or so older than him, about the same age as August. (Though, to Jesper's credit, the comparison with his cousin ends there.) He tries to imagine his cousin, or any of the guys he surrounds himself with, in a gang, and the idea is laughable.