[ Dreadful, this. Questions seemingly assembled for the express purpose of putting fissures in one or the both of them. Suffice it to say, all the fun's rather been drained from meeting new people, and instead Viktor watches wordless as the architect of his own hollowing loses so much of that trademark clownish lustre.
His gaze dips down to the paper, the next question, "Is it crueler to deprive a child of wings meant to bear it to paradise or to bestow the gift of flight and then refuse to teach it how to walk?"
Viktor's expression darkens, crumpling the paper up and throwing it over his shoulder. Wretched list. Instead of answering this next question, he makes an observation. ]
You are in pain.
[ A pause. His gaze cuts down to the table, to his own fingers, tapping a rhythmless beat now that they have nothing to hold. ]
I do not think it wise to continue with these p-prompts, Fandaniel.
no subject
His gaze dips down to the paper, the next question, "Is it crueler to deprive a child of wings meant to bear it to paradise or to bestow the gift of flight and then refuse to teach it how to walk?"
Viktor's expression darkens, crumpling the paper up and throwing it over his shoulder. Wretched list. Instead of answering this next question, he makes an observation. ]
You are in pain.
[ A pause. His gaze cuts down to the table, to his own fingers, tapping a rhythmless beat now that they have nothing to hold. ]
I do not think it wise to continue with these p-prompts, Fandaniel.