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[dissono]

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[dissono]

Th-th-th—

( gervais breathes out over his coffee. it had made sense, when he was a young man, to cultivate rather than smooth out his verbal tics. he hadn't known he was ever going to leave the context in which that had been true. it hinders him now as it had helped him then, and his cultivation of a mild-mannered affect doesn't mean he's not human, or immune to these minor irritations.

he's given a grace period to gather his thoughts and hopefully his words when the serving girl who'd smiled at him before brings out two breakfast plates, which he slightly rearranges after nodding his thanks (she seems unoffended by what would be brusque from someone else, so presumably she knows the drill) mainly to be sure that tony is going to get enough of what gervais thinks he could do with. )

Notes, ( finally. ) Lyrium illness. R-r-rifter ah, quarantine, quarantine is...new, from—from that.

( it had been probably the single most informative thing that's ever happened to rifters, which mainly serves to underscore tony's broader point: that the research has largely not been fucking done. but it's somewhere to start, at least. )

Before—before, ah, my time. Here.

[propulsion]

[ He looks at the food. Hunger has turned into queasy pangs, removed from actual enthusiasm. He keeps the monologue about how he's so thrown off his gluten-free keto regiment to himself in a rare move of not wanting to behave completely like a child, waiting for Gervais to stop-- doing what he's doing with the plates before he pulls his near, idly turning it around in search of something he wants to put in his face.

Tongue running over his teeth. Toothpaste would be awesome. The concoctions of herbs and salt that seem to be on offer instead are better than nothing, but still. ]

That's some'n, [ he agrees. ] Smart. Also terrible, boring.

[ But what's he gonna do, go on a tour? Sight-see? ]

Still an inexcusable amount of gaps to fill in, and what literature there is, I hate. [ The incidence record of the illness Gervais is talking about provided more questions than answers, but passive confirmation -- or cause of -- the theories Gwen shared around the nature of rifters. ] Do you guys have the five stages of grief, here? Just curious, asking for a friend.

[ Of which he has none. Except maybe Gervais, for now. He sics utensils against some egg. ]

[dissono]

( maker, tony, the yolk of the egg is as edible as the white. these are the thoughts that cross gervais's mind, observing him, though his expression reflects (as ever) approximately none of his internal world and he's busying himself with his own breakfast in a somewhat more businesslike fashion, regardless.

(preudame lays her head on his knee, which pushes it down slightly. he pats her head absently, but his hand doesn't contain a sausage, so it's not a win.) )

J-j-j-—

( he drinks his coffee. )

Work, ( he says, finally, ) you, you, you're on the, ah, the right track.

( it's just the one stage of grief, it's "try and get on with it until you also die", generally. )

[propulsion]

[ Tony laughs. Obviously kind of a tense laugh, but it's not disingenuous, a brief smile pressing thin while he navigates his breakfast plate. Maybe he's a picky eater because he certainly is being selective, ignoring slices of ham, the half-running yolk, the slice of bread.

He does pick up the tapered rectangle of cheese, breaking pieces between his fingers. ]

Sorry, uh, gallows humour. [ Badum-chhh. ] I'm good for that, work. You know, with the right tools, or a sense of. Um, purpose, even if that purpose sucks. [ Accepts a bite of cheese. ] I had a lot of projects going at home, actually, building things. Greater good kind of stuff. Here I don't even know what the hell I'm meant to do when I do get up to speed, which. You know.

[ Then he whistles, attention steering down and aside towards the dog. It's to her that he offers out his hand flat, a couple of cheese pieces on offer. ] You break it you buy it, [ he adds, in case she gets ambitious in her appetite.

The ease to which all these words come out so hurried makes it seem like the way he normally operates, as much of a tic as Gervais' own stammer. The fragmentation, however, is more indicative of the cracks beneath the surface. ]

I miss my robots. That's probably weird. Also they can never know, they've been sassy enough as it is.