applesaucedream | [closed] When all turns out to be unjust, then I'll turn back and help you out

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[closed] When all turns out to be unjust, then I'll turn back and help you out

Seth is having a familiar dream. He's sitting in an underground interrogation room, cuffed hands resting on the cold metal table. Head bowed, eyes fixed on the table. Waiting. He's alone, but who knows who's on the other side of a one-way mirror next to him.

Elsewhere, as Daniel enters the dream, Seth casts him as someone being shown around the rebel base, perhaps as some sort of inspector, or someone who's just gotten their security clearance upped. The man showing him around is some sort of doctor, or a supervisor, probably both.

"Our next prisoner, J-19, has been working with us for three and a half months now. Doing good work, mostly compliant these days, though he can get a bit unruly sometimes," the man says, leading the way down one of the many underground corridors.

[Warning: ...I don't even know what all to warn for. Imprisonment, abuse, torture, temporary paralysis, NPC death, guns, a lot of emotions, sensory overload, suicide mentions... It's heavy.]

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Daniel follows his area supervisor through the subterranean base with restrained interest as he tries not to put every moral doubt on display all at once. He enters the room behind the false mirror, the whole thing as uncompromisingly shadowed as the rest of the base, the walls smooth and bare and lifeless. Oddly enough, the room on the other side of the glass seems to be the brightest he's seen in the base so far, so Daniel moves closer for a better look. The fluorescent light lends a harsh silver cast to its sole occupant. Seated. Handcuffed. Waiting in isolation.

Then Daniel's mouth parts slightly in muted alarm as he realizes that he recognizes him, and an iciness seeps into the base of his neck that has nothing to do with room temperature.

Seth looks terrible under the glare of cold light, though Daniel can't see his face. He's looking at the table and it'd be useless even if he did happen to glance up, because of course he'd see the mirror and not those on the other side.

With considerable effort, he forces his attention back to the supervisor, who has just made an unfortunate comment about the sort of "work" Seth's been doing for them.

"Unruly how, exactly?" Daniel asks in response, the veneer of careful neutrality doing just enough to mask the moral outrage boiling beneath. That's Seth in there. What have they been doing to him?

"Mmm, mostly refusal to cooperate and disrespectful behavior. Has attacked guards on a couple occasions. Several escape attempts, though not for a while now," the supervisor answers, looking down at the chart, unaware of Daniel's outrage.

It's almost as if Seth himself can feel it though, like a prickling at the back of his neck, and he sits up a little, glancing over at the mirror. He doesn't keep looking that way, though. He doesn't like to see himself there.

Oh god. After the long period where Seth demonstrates an unsettling lack of movement he finally shifts a little, if only to lift his head and look at the mirror. But the tiny movement allows Daniel to see just how - how bad it is. The hardline shadows thrown by the overhead light only work to illuminate how gaunt and pale and malnourished he is, highlighting the shaded crescents printed beneath his eyes.

Daniel's jaw clenches.

He can't express what's going through his head right now.

The only way he can help Seth is by watching. And waiting. And learning.

And it tears him apart that he can't do anything about it. Not now. Not yet.

And of course the supervisor observes nothing, suspects nothing, it is all perfectly structured and contained and measured in sectioned-off graying walls and they have Perfect Control Over The Situation because Seth is not a person here, he is a number and a partitioned room and a commodity that has currently been designated as "uncooperative."

Daniel thinks he might be sick.

"And how long did you say he's been here? Over three months?" He works to keep his voice level, patient, calm. Three months. Over three months. It's horrifying, honestly. He can't imagine Seth succumbing to the mentality that follows that length of time in prison, how the first initial days and weeks are full of desperate opposition and then the first month establishes a pattern, and by the third month it's just confirmation that is is simply how the rest of your life is going be like. He can't see Seth being beaten down that way.

But there are a lot of things he didn't think he could imagine Seth being, an utterly helpless prisoner among them.

"How has he contributed in the long run?" Daniel asks, hating himself for going along with this, hating that he can't do anything about it now, hating himself for knowing the sorts of questions he should ask. He wishes he could signal Seth that he's here, he's a friend, he's going to get him out but it's not feasible. Not yet.

"He's neutralised quite a few threats for us, and given us quite a few tools for progress. In fact, in just a month, he had already helped us out more than most of our collaborators do in a year," the supervisor answers. "Ah, here, you'll see," he adds as the door on the other side of the mirror opens.

Seth straightens in his seat as several people enter - not a gesture of respect or interest, but defensiveness, leaning back and pulling his hands towards himself.

The most noticeable is a young woman who appears to be on fire. Not her clothing, which is strangely undamaged, but her skin. It immediately comes across as aggressive, but Seth is far too used to recognising the desperate, defensive behavior of someone trying to resist having their power taken away.

She's obviously scared, held tight by two strong guards, both wearing thick gloves to protect against her skin. They're accompanied by a woman Seth has seen many times, who is maintaining a barrier that becomes visible every time flames lick out against it, so that the fire doesn't get out of hand or harms anyone.

Seth hesitates as the girl is forced into the seat in front of him, and her hand stretched out. Both because he absolutely hates this, and because he's not particularly inclined to touch someone who is literally on fire.

"I'm sorry..." he tells her quietly, and reaches out and grasps her hand.

He's not burned by her at all, he always has a certain immunity when he uses his power. The guards let go of her the moment Seth takes hold and starts to glow, lighting up the room even brighter than her flames had done. The power does feel a bit like it's burning through his insides as he does this, and he grits his teeth, and then it's over.

He slumps forward a little, head bowed, hands shaking, feeling like shit in more than one way. His eyes are closed, but he can hear how scared she is, as what is now by all accounts just a regular girl is dragged out of the room.

Edited 2014-10-18 06:44 (UTC)

The pitted nausea only intensifies with the explanation, and then Daniel's stomach drops out entirely when it becomes clear that he's about to see a demonstration.

He hisses out between his teeth, shoulders tensed, when the woman enters, but not so much due to her appearance (startling as someone who appears to be literally on fire is) than to Seth's. Everything about his body language, the unconscious shrinking from the target, the flinching, the hesitation, telegraphs exactly how obviously, painfully, utterly he does not want to be doing this. And Daniel can see exactly what's about to happen before it does, because Seth apologizes as he takes her hand.

He hates having to do this.

Daniel hates having to watch him do this.

There it is, the familiar flaring blaze of Seth transferring a power, and then the woman isn't on fire anymore and she's led roughly away. Daniel's sympathy extends to her as well - to have that done to someone so forcibly cannot be in any way pleasant - but Seth's reaction to having carried out the unspoken command is what demands his attention the most. He's trembling so hard Daniel can see it from through the pane of glass, and his head drops in what could be an indication of exhaustion, despair, self-hatred, anything.

Or possibly weary acceptance.

Because he's used to it.

God, how many times has he had to do this, unwilling and resisting and refusing to be used for that purpose, and what did they have to do to browbeat him into that unquestioned, automatic submission?

It takes every ounce of self-control Daniel has to not take action over this right now and definitively end all of it. He remembers that his entire body is still too taut and braced against the horror of the scene that has just played out in front of him, and he makes an active effort to externally relax.

"Interesting," he remarks flatly. "And useful, I'll give you that. But I feel I have to ask - is all this," at which point he jerks his chin in a muted gesture that manages to encompass the room, the guards, the brutality of the act, the man chained in solitude, and all of it, "strictly necessary? I mean to say, have you tried negotiating for his help?" He doesn't voice the silent addition of instead of taking it, but the meaning is clear in the weight of his words. It takes a herculean effort for Daniel to keep his tone civil and casual like that of the supervisor's, like they've embarked on an engaging discussion on weather patterns.

"Oh yes, of course," the man answers, eyes once again focused on his clipboard now the action is over, flipping a page and scribbling something down.

"He worked for us at first, just came in and did this and left again. But then he... Let's see," he says, flipping through a page to find something in J-19's chart. "Here we go; entering restricted area, assault, attempted murder. He was deemed too dangerous to go free."

He glances up as someone arrives in the other room to collect J-19, who stands up and walks out of his own volition, clearly unwilling to be touched, shoulders hunched and elbows tucked defensively to his sides.

"Of course, all the work he does for us counts in his favour, and we're trying to work towards his rehabilitation. But... Like I said, he is uncooperative." He sighs and shakes his head sadly, though his sympathy lies more towards the unfortunate situation and how much extra work it is, rather than for J-19's well-being.

He glances over at the supervisor sharply as he relays the truncated incident report. That's too little information; whatever it is about the ominous-sounding restricted area and assault, Seth's subsequent treatment likely has more to do with the details. He's been downgraded from collaborator to technicality over some vague event that Daniel has only one-sided context for.

There's movement in the other room; Seth stands and Daniel looks back over, grimacing as he takes note of how he moves, withdrawn and quiet in his immediate acquiescence to the guard's clear orders. Seeing him so subdued runs in disturbing contrast to the confident guy who bought Daniel drinks and happily went out of his way to show him around Manhattan. The man who slinks out of his cell now, recoiling from touch and compliant in service of his captors, is so contradictory to Daniel's first impressions of Seth that it actually makes his jaw ache.

He wonders fleetingly how much of the Seth he knows is a pretense to wall all of this away, and how much of who he was before this still exists.

Daniel watches him leave, standing rigid and hoping that none of it shows.

"What did he do?" he asks as the door clangs shut behind him. "Do you know the specifics of, er, J-19's incident?"

And he's been assigned a number. They don't even pretend that this is in any way humane, not that that makes it any better. They might be self-aware in their active dehumanization of Seth and whoever else they have kept in here, but that doesn't excuse them for implementing it.

God, he really fucking hates it in here.

The supervisor remains quiet as he flips through a few pages. "Doesn't say much. But at least one of our employees was badly hurt, almost didn't survive." He unclips the first page and hands it over to Daniel.

Name: Jackson, Seth
Inmate number: J-19-5-20-8
Age upon commitment: 28
Date of commitment: November 12th, 2012

Further down the page, there's a section for comments on his behavior and health. In addition to what the supervisor has already spoken it, it also mentions suicidal and self-destructive behavior, resisting treatment, paranoia, aggression.

Most of the rest of the information on the page is either not relevant to Seth himself, or it covers things the supervisor has already said. That is, until the bottom, where under background it mentions he originates from Manchester and London, 2012, in a very similar universe. That he's the only child of a working class single mother, and that he never graduated and got his A levels. That he's a drug dealer.

Basically, Seth's subconscious is just tossing private information about his past at Daniel.

Daniel gets as far as the health and behavior records before his careful mask of neutrality cracks, noticeably, as he blanches and swallows hard in an effort to contain it. Going through the extra information on Seth's background feels invasive. Daniel wishes to god he hadn't obtained it this way, intruding and reading those secrets laid bare without consent.

He reaches the end of the form and has to take a surreptitious, steadying breath.

God.

He doesn't know what to do with any of this. He just wishes - god, he wishes he could unlearn all of it; he's just trespassed on something incredibly private, more or less tripped and fell into Seth's personal backyard cemetery of all the things he probably never wanted Daniel to know, least of all like this.

With meticulous care, he hands the sheet back to the supervisor. Some of the words, most prominently the ones delineating Seth as suicidal and self-destructive and a drug dealer, stick fast behind his eyelids as he shuts his eyes, rubs a thumb against the bridge of his nose, and works to regain his composure.

They can call it what they like: forced cooperation, enhanced interrogation, pressured collaborative efforts, whatever deceptive lexicon of euphemisms they choose. It's torture, and Seth's had to endure it for months without even the basic right to his own name.

Daniel swallows again, working against the reverse gravitational weight of the knot that's somehow formed in his esophagus.

"What are you going to do with him?" he asks quietly, desperately trying not to let any of that tamped down emotion leak through. "You're not going to keep him here indefinitely." The question mark hovers just past the range of the statement, low-pitched with disbelief.

The supervisor doesn't seem to notice Daniel's emotions whatsoever, because the supervisor is not the outlet and physicalisation of Seth's emotions. But the fluorescent lights in the interrogation room flickers, and everything seems a bit darker.

"Well, that rather depends on him, doesn't it?" he answers blankly. "You seem to have a particular interest in this one. Would you like to speak to him?"

"I think that might be a good idea," Daniel replies slowly, remaining ever circumspect. "Perhaps there's a chance I could," he pauses to wet his lips, working out the best way to phrase it, "discuss some of his options. Possibly find a way to make his...correspondence with you less, ah, forceful."

Daniel isn't typically one to speak so delicately about something like this, but fortunately circumlocution is one of his finer areas. And, more importantly, if it'll allow him a window to communicate with Seth, it's worth it. He doesn't think he can physically stand to keep watching this.

"By all means, if you think you can make him more manageable, you're welcome to try," the supervisor answers, spreading his hands out. "I'll take you to his room. Though he'll likely be tired now."

The man leads the way out of the room and down some hallways, into a different and pretty high-security section, though it seems to take them no time at all to get there.

"I've got things to attend to, but I'm sure you'll manage on your own." Not like J-19 is much a threat in his current condition, especially to someone like Daniel. "Just call for a guard when you want out," he says, and lets Daniel into the room.

It's pretty large, but it's still quite obviously a cell. Heavy metal door, brick walls, chilly stone floor, the air heavy and stale. There's not really any furniture apart from the toilet in the corner and the bed Seth is lying on, staring up at the ceiling. There's a stack of books next to him, but not really much else. He doesn't move when Daniel enters, not yet.

It's a surprise that someone's here already, though. Why would he be taken back to his room if someone wanted to speak to him immediately after? Perhaps the interrogation room was about to be used by someone else. He doesn't really care. He assumes the man Seth hasn't turned to look at yet is here to get the power Seth just took from the girl.

He has to suppress yet another shudder as they move deeper into the facility, taking stock of the steady increase of security with a sinking heart. He'd been nursing the fragile hope that he could try to get Seth out now but it's not looking favorable.

Of course, that's no guarantee that Daniel won't try regardless.

He enters the cell after only a minute of hesitation. The interior of this place is, if possible, even unfriendlier than that of the interrogation area. Somehow the minimal effort they applied to make it more personal simply backfired; the stack of books doubtless meant to serve as his sole form of entertainment are just a perverse reminder of how little power Seth has here. It's all engineered submission.

Daniel sucks in a tight breath as the weighted door slams shut behind him - for maximal security purposes he guesses, but it still triggers a prickle of unease. Whether that's for Seth's sake or his own is unclear. He sucks in a preparative breath, the air chilled and painful in his lungs, takes in the spartan accommodations in one flick of his eyes, and jabs his hands into his pockets in a pointless attempt to warm them.

"Hi," he says unnecessarily, and it strikes him that there's a very real possibility that this room is being monitored. Whatever he says to Seth, it has to be discreet. Daniel is not excellent at discreet.

"J-19," he tries again, hating that he has to say it, working to keep his tone light and conversational. As far as anyone here knows, they don't know each other and Daniel should continue acting as such. "Your file said your name is 'Seth'. Can I call you Seth?"

Which is a perfectly normal thing to ask. Familiarizing oneself with an individual in an interrogative situation is a perfectly natural tactic. It creates an emotional bond to make negotiations easier. The people here should know that.

It's not until the voice says his name that there's a twinge of familiarity there. Seth looks over, and his chest seems to constrict, like someone just put a boulder on it.

The memories of Daniel seem very distant, like it's been years, and Seth's not sure how to feel. Hopeful? Betrayed?

His mind is working too sluggishly for him to decide. It would not be the first time someone he considered a friend has been used against him. What's Daniel even doing here? Is he working for them now? He does his best to strangle the glimmer of hope that seems to have flared up inside him. The sound of Daniel's voice saying Seth's designation seems to ring through his mind.

He slowly swings his legs out of bed and sits up, hands gripping the side of his bed. Daniel looks all wrong in here. So stiff and proper and... Not cold, exactly, no. Perhaps it just feels like he should be. Distant and untouchable. Although possibly Seth is just imagining that.

"Okay.." he answers finally, not having to speak very loudly to be heard over the empty silence of the room.

He looks even worse up close. Pale and fragile from months of rough treatment, looking at Daniel guardedly, but he sees the flicker of recognition just beneath. The betrayal.

Daniel forces himself to continue meeting Seth's eyes even if they're hollow and sunken and dismal, straining to communicate I'm here to help without words. He thinks he sees the barest flicker of hope cross Seth's expression but it fades before he can be sure.

He's walking on very, very thin ice. He doesn't know how to tell him and be subtle about it.

"I regret your situation." God, it sounds so flat and stony and horrible when he has to put it that way, lifeless and without admitting responsibility. "And I regret the circumstances that placed you in it." Indirectly blaming Seth for something beyond his control, how nice and considerate of him, but he can't arouse suspicion and he can't make himself obvious.

No, god no he can't do this. Not if Seth still has a modicum of hope that he can escape.

"I think it would be beneficial," he continues, the words have to be calculated and patient and without inflection and he hates it, "if we worked to change it."

All the while Daniel keeps looking at him, facing away from the door and hoping no one but Seth can see his expression, how much he is trying to non-verbally convey that he is going to get him out of here. He is going to at the very least try.

Seth can feel himself harden against Daniel's words, and it becomes very difficult to look at him.

It also becomes very quickly apparent that Daniel doesn't have much power to help him. Nor can he be a friend to him. Strictly professional and distant. Seth feels bitter and angry, because that's much easier, less painful than hoping against hope, than opening himself up to someone who might be able to help.

He smirks, sardonically and without any humour, and reaches out a hand towards Daniel. "Wanna be on fire?"

Then he scoffs and drops the hand, pushing himself backwards on the bed to lean against the wall, legs pulled up and resting his arms on his knees. Not looking at Daniel.

He has to bite back the automatic apology because Seth just radiates weary, practiced hostility, either not picking up on the signals Daniel's desperately trying to send or not caring enough to interpret them. He's not sure which is worse.

No, yes he is.

The latter. Definitely.

I'm sorry, he wants to mouth wordlessly but there's no way to know if anyone will see. He hates this. He loathes this.

Seth's offer of the hand and the caustic remark that follows is somehow worse than anything Daniel had to watch him endure in the other room. This is - this is intentional. This is aware.

How does he alert Seth to any of it? How does he - no, don't turn to look over one shoulder and check if anyone's watching because that's the surest way to raise suspicions and doom them both. He can't act on any of the instincts for compassion, understanding, whatever else he'd ordinarily utilize here. He can't afford to be anything but distant.

"It might change sooner than you think," he says again, and shit that could just as easily be taken as a subtle threat. No, no no no no that's not what he means. "It could be beneficial." No, god that sounds even worse, like he's alluding to some warped form of bribery for comfort or something.

"I can help you." But in context of what he's just said it still sounds like a warning. No, fuck, Daniel's just not very good at this at all, is he?

Seth looks up. If it had been anyone else, it definitely would've sounded ominous. But there's something about the familiar badly-hidden awkwardness at saying the wrong thing. Seth licks his lips a bit, considering.

"What makes you think I want your help?" he answers coldly, then suddenly gets to his feet, squaring his shoulders, clenching and unclenching his fists. Rather than come at Daniel though, he starts pacing the length of the room.

"I've had enough promises about 'beneficial' changes, ta very much," he continues loudly, not looking at Daniel. "And you can take your regret and shove it."

Definitely the wrong thing to say. Daniel doesn't mean to flinch when Seth rises but he does, a horrible reflexive motion mirroring the other man's thoroughly unfriendly disposition. It doesn't help that Seth won't even look at him, just prowls the room while violently discharging his pent-up aggression at the only person present to listen.

It's also rapidly becoming more obvious that however ragged a condition Seth might be in physically, it's probably nothing like the graveyard his mental state must be by now. There's anxiety, animosity, barely contained frustration in each movement, and it's all aimed directly at Daniel.

Daniel, who wants to help but has no idea how, who can only stand there with restless hands and useless sympathy, stripped of his words and his compassion and his fucking pointless understanding, the only weapons he can wield with any accuracy.

"Consider that this might not be a conventional offer," he says, a little too quickly and tersely and desperately and trying not to let any of it leak through.

This is tortuous to watch. And Daniel is so close to just saying fuck it to all of it and -

He can't.

Edited 2014-10-19 00:49 (UTC)

Seth shoots Daniel a warning glare at his words, Seth's own back to the camera now.

"Just--" Seth gestures jerkily, and turns to the wall next to the door, then kicks it out of frustration, breathing heavily. He presses his hands against the wall and leans his head against it wearily for a moment. Then he turns and leans against the wall in the corner, sinking to the floor.

"Just leave me alone," he says clearly, voice rough, but now it's his turn for the words not to match the expression, aggression giving way to desperation, only hoping Daniel won't be too surprised and give him away. He glances pointedly upwards at the camera in the corner above him. This is the only place in the room where they can't properly see him.

Easy enough to fake a tantrum - not like he doesn't actually feel all those things. Hands close to his chest, he gestures carefully for Daniel to come closer, to pretend to check on Seth.

Seeing him actually lash out is even worse than the bottled-down rage from before, but then Seth draws himself into the corner and his expression opens and he looks up at the camera and -

Oh.

Oh.

Daniel tracks the line of Seth's gaze partway but doesn't dare look back at it. He's trusting Seth's reasoning and knowledge of the place here, so he moves toward him with all the righteous authority and purpose of someone about to engage in forcefully corrective behavior. He drops into a slow crouch in front of him, lifting his eyes to stare back at Seth in bare and skittish relief but he's not sure he can vocalize just now. His breaths are shallow, heart thudding in the shock of realization.

His lungs don't feel muzzled in cotton any longer and the room temperature isn't as oppressively glacial and he can actually breathe without the tearing in his throat because he knows now, he's done it, he's gotten through, Seth knows and none of what he said before matters, none of it.

"I'm sorry." Daniel mouths it silently, as diminished and surreptitious as he can. That doesn't even begin to cover what he needs to communicate to Seth right now and it's not even a suitable starting point, but - fuck, it's something. And it's not the arctic distance and detachment he's been forced to display so far. At least.

Edited 2014-10-19 01:40 (UTC)

Seth tenses up when Daniel comes at him, and shit fuck he's made a mistake, he's fucked up. It was just a trick to make Seth reveal what weaknesses he's discovered in their system, and now he's going to pay, at a former friend's hand.

But then when Daniel crouches, there is just no way to fake the look on his face, and Seth breathes a shaking sigh of relief. It's amazing, to see a friendly, kind face.

He wants to reach out and grab Daniel, just hold onto him for a little bit, some physicality to reassure himself, but he resists. He's not sure just how much is hidden from the camera here. Instead he rubs at his knuckles, hands trembling a little.

"They can't hear us if we whisper," he answers in a low hiss. "Especially after I shouted."

It's almost worse seeing him now, with none of the empty defiance or hostility, just Seth and his tremoring, palpable terror and anxiety and panic. There's no reservation here, no barriers or avoidance or fronts for anyone's benefit, just naked dread and paranoia.

And relief. That's the important thing.

"I'm sorry," Daniel can say it aloud, whispered and horrified. "God, I - I'm gonna try and get you out, I promise, I, I don't even know how I - god, I'm so sorry."

He has to fight to keep it at a whisper, but even if his voice breaks by the second apology the volume never peaks. There is no way to transcribe all of it into words, even a linguist can recognize the limitations of human speech, and there wouldn't be enough time regardless. Going on like this in a futile attempt to console him verbally won't help, so he falls silent and reaches out with a discreet hand to grasp at one of Seth's, masking the motion as he shifts his weight from his heels to the balls of his feet. He just - needs for Seth to have tactility that isn't forced power transferals or blunt force trauma or whatever else he's been subjected to here.

Seth swallows at the apology, and his eyes are stinging. It's so good to find out that someone is trying to help him, but he also hates for Daniel to see him like this, and how upsetting it is for him, and paradoxically he wants to comfort Daniel.

He grabs onto Daniel's hand tightly, pressing it to his chest, as if he wants to keep it there, and he smiles weakly.

"Books," he says, whispered voice wavering. "If you lend me books, you can put messages in them."

He'll even behave, so they won't take them away as punishment. And so they'll think it's Daniel's doing that he's behaving too, so they will trust Daniel more. He knows they can't pull off a conversation like this more than once, maybe twice. Perhaps Daniel can find some other way for them to talk, but at least they'll still have a way to communicate until then.

Daniel nods fractionally, understanding. They have no time for extended discussion here but that doesn't mean they don't have a plan. As much as two sentences, one of which was a single word, can be defined as a "plan," anyhow. But it's something, and they can work with that.

The strength of Seth's grip just works to further augment Daniel's resolve. He returns the smile, pained and fleeting, and briefly increases the pressure of his fingers around Seth's hand.

"I'll get you out," he hisses, ironclad conviction punched into each syllable, the final word closed off with the satisfying snap of teeth as he rises, pulls roughly out of Seth's grasp to move away, all the while keeping his back to the camera.

"I'm sure there's something we can do," he says icily, clearly, acting for the camera, "to get your full cooperation. Without any of this."

He bites his lip briefly - he probably overplayed that - but hastily rearranges his expression into something more detached.

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