Uh felt like a very proper response: it was probably how Rory would've reacted to a rambling Rory as well, hadn't he been the rambling Rory in question. He felt slightly embarrassed about it, but only slightly; he'd lived with himself long enough to know that this sometimes happened. It usually meant that he was doing something he thought was right, but also oddly terrifying, difficult, or daunting.
Rory wasn't the best at social chitchat or keeping tabs on his friends, and this wasn't an entirely regular social call either. He was hunting for some introspection, something to mull over, to learn from, but not in a way that had him wanting to ask direct questions about it.
Instead he watched—fingers still twining anxiously around each other underneath the table—as Ronin found his way out of whatever emotional space Rory had accidentally put him in. Silently Rory encouraged Ronin to pour him a glass of the wine as well, before taking it and giving it an experimental sip. It really was quite good, and a blessing on such a hot late Longheat day.
"Surviving," he echoed, his voice hollow though there was something wry in his expression. Wasn't that what they had done for three centuries, until some Outlanders came along and showed them there was more to life than just surviving? "I'm okay. Struggling to find my place with all of these changes." Less than a year, yet it felt so much longer... He could barely recognize his own world anymore, even less remember a life before all of this.
He found that his gaze had dropped to Aoife, watching the way her chubby child's fists grabbed at Ronin's shirt. "How old is she now?"
Rory wasn't the best at social chitchat or keeping tabs on his friends, and this wasn't an entirely regular social call either. He was hunting for some introspection, something to mull over, to learn from, but not in a way that had him wanting to ask direct questions about it.
Instead he watched—fingers still twining anxiously around each other underneath the table—as Ronin found his way out of whatever emotional space Rory had accidentally put him in. Silently Rory encouraged Ronin to pour him a glass of the wine as well, before taking it and giving it an experimental sip. It really was quite good, and a blessing on such a hot late Longheat day.
"Surviving," he echoed, his voice hollow though there was something wry in his expression. Wasn't that what they had done for three centuries, until some Outlanders came along and showed them there was more to life than just surviving? "I'm okay. Struggling to find my place with all of these changes." Less than a year, yet it felt so much longer... He could barely recognize his own world anymore, even less remember a life before all of this.
He found that his gaze had dropped to Aoife, watching the way her chubby child's fists grabbed at Ronin's shirt. "How old is she now?"
