memory’s so treacherous
Finn smiles without actually smiling, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit at the edge of it again. It might be a compliment, but that neither means he believes nor understands it, the Spyglass grabbing at his shirt and shrugging back into it, buttoning it up as he listens. ”Absolutely not,” he says warmly, glancing up at her. ”I would much rather a painful truth than a pretty lie, Doctor Hart. Though perhaps not one quite as philosophical just now.”
The idea of helping her to remember the names of bones in the hand sounds positively droll, and would likely be perfect to help him sleep. But, terribly socialised as Finn might be, he can recognise a dig for information when it’s put to him. ”No, he did not,” he says. ”He was only dropping by to see me, in fact. Would you like me to see if there might be some research that needs doing? Providing cursory checks on our demigods, perhaps? Finding out what they can do?”
The idea of helping her to remember the names of bones in the hand sounds positively droll, and would likely be perfect to help him sleep. But, terribly socialised as Finn might be, he can recognise a dig for information when it’s put to him. ”No, he did not,” he says. ”He was only dropping by to see me, in fact. Would you like me to see if there might be some research that needs doing? Providing cursory checks on our demigods, perhaps? Finding out what they can do?”
one moment you’re lost in a carnival of delights
the next, it leads you somewhere you don’t want to go
FINN
