[As he hasn't been invited to sit, and he's still thoroughly soggy, Wilhelm remains standing. Caught in socially awkward limbo. The question — are you hearing things? — pulls from him an expression that belongs to someone caught red-handed. It softens into sympathy as Claude continues. The faces he sees, Wilhelm assumes, must be those of loved ones lost to death or left behind in Claude's home world. Aching reminders that the past is never really dead.]
I keep hearing voices. [Realizing how that sounds, he looks away, lips sucked in.] It's not really anyone in particular, just...I don't know, they pretty much talk shit all day.
[Casually, as if the constant barbs haven't massacred his mood. It's fine.]
no subject
I keep hearing voices. [Realizing how that sounds, he looks away, lips sucked in.] It's not really anyone in particular, just...I don't know, they pretty much talk shit all day.
[Casually, as if the constant barbs haven't massacred his mood. It's fine.]