"I'm fine, thank you --" is an equally pointless response, and one that comes so automatically from him that it's laughable. He realises that, too, because he winces in response and barely manages to stop himself from apologising -- for what, he's not sure. The terrible lie, disturbing her, breathing her air? Someday he'll figure out what exactly he's so sorry about that he has to tell everyone he meets. Sorry, I'm sorry.
His hand, halfway into his pocket to look for cigarettes, stops. He won't light up with someone else around even though it's legal in Baedal and nobody really cares. It just seems --
Wolfgang shrugs and turns his head away. He smells like magic and medicine, violets and vetiver, paint, and a little bit of weed. Him and half the city his age. "I can't stand these places," he says. Not a conversation starter exactly and not quite an apology, more like an explanation, offered a little awkwardly. The fact that he's here at all says enough about why he bothered. Monotheists in Baedal seldom have any other choice but to come somewhere like here.
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His hand, halfway into his pocket to look for cigarettes, stops. He won't light up with someone else around even though it's legal in Baedal and nobody really cares. It just seems --
Wolfgang shrugs and turns his head away. He smells like magic and medicine, violets and vetiver, paint, and a little bit of weed. Him and half the city his age. "I can't stand these places," he says. Not a conversation starter exactly and not quite an apology, more like an explanation, offered a little awkwardly. The fact that he's here at all says enough about why he bothered. Monotheists in Baedal seldom have any other choice but to come somewhere like here.