[ host. he doesn't like the word, feels it in his teeth — wants it to feel wrong where instead some part of him decides it fits. whatever they put in his head is no different to the telepathy that used to sit behind his eye like a tumour. if he's a host, then it's to a parasite that will probably end just as badly as the first one did. hopefully it takes out something less important than his fucking eye this time. ]
Yeah? [ her calm unsettles him in the same way a too-quiet room makes hair stand on end. but he does want a better grasp on the situation: ] So how many poor saps have they roped in?
[ simmering distrust, his arms crossed and fingers tapping restless against his arm. there isn't any hostility in his question, just a sharp-edged cynicism that makes almost every interaction read as one between a victim and a perpetrator to him. ]
no subject
Yeah? [ her calm unsettles him in the same way a too-quiet room makes hair stand on end. but he does want a better grasp on the situation: ] So how many poor saps have they roped in?
[ simmering distrust, his arms crossed and fingers tapping restless against his arm. there isn't any hostility in his question, just a sharp-edged cynicism that makes almost every interaction read as one between a victim and a perpetrator to him. ]