Color Tseng suddenly interested. He's not sure why. They've all been alone with corpses before. Nothing fun has ever happened. But Rude, with his? He wonders what it was like in those moments he was not within his own flesh. Did Rude speak to him? Did he take his hand and feel how cold it was? He's not sure what is prompting this sudden, morbid fascination, but it makes him tilt his head, compels him to look at Rude a little more attentively.
"I am tired..." he says, as much to Rude as it is to himself. His gaze strays toward the couch, where Reno's blood was recently vacuumed and disinfected and lifted stain by stain, all while Tseng watched with barely-concealed disappointment. He could lock the door and curl up there on the couch, catch a few Z's until someone inevitably comes pounding at the door or starts shrieking over the comms. With Rude here, it almost seems like it would be possible. He has always been a harbor of comfortable tranquility, just as Reno has always been the gunpowder to Tseng's ever-burning flame.
Of course, the truth of the matter is that he would lock that door, lay down, and then find himself caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts for no reason but to waste time until he inevitably gives up on the idea of sleep completely. He knows himself. So gunpoint it is.
"Unfortunately, the world will not stop for me," he says, in correction, as he lifts the folders he's been sorting. "You most of all must know how tragically behind schedule we've fallen. Our enemies will give us no quarter; I should like to offer them the same."
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"I am tired..." he says, as much to Rude as it is to himself. His gaze strays toward the couch, where Reno's blood was recently vacuumed and disinfected and lifted stain by stain, all while Tseng watched with barely-concealed disappointment. He could lock the door and curl up there on the couch, catch a few Z's until someone inevitably comes pounding at the door or starts shrieking over the comms. With Rude here, it almost seems like it would be possible. He has always been a harbor of comfortable tranquility, just as Reno has always been the gunpowder to Tseng's ever-burning flame.
Of course, the truth of the matter is that he would lock that door, lay down, and then find himself caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts for no reason but to waste time until he inevitably gives up on the idea of sleep completely. He knows himself. So gunpoint it is.
"Unfortunately, the world will not stop for me," he says, in correction, as he lifts the folders he's been sorting. "You most of all must know how tragically behind schedule we've fallen. Our enemies will give us no quarter; I should like to offer them the same."