Some silence. Bruce watches the waiting input terminal, its shifting mercury-that-isn't.
"Don't like 'subliminal immersive experience,'" he says, nearly quip-like, offhand bluntness in a rare cadence that makes him almost sound like he might actually be from New Jersey. Also, like he definitely heard brainwashing anyway, and is politely working out a way not to say What the fuck, even though he's sure Clark can hear that, in return. Companionably.
All kinds of languages are fun, see.
He's taking his coat off, finally, and considering the other wax paper-wrapped sandwich, which he'd have been perfectly able to forget about for hours had Clark not wolfed one down already, highlighting the existence which now burns jealously at the edge of his awareness in an insulated messenger bag.
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"Don't like 'subliminal immersive experience,'" he says, nearly quip-like, offhand bluntness in a rare cadence that makes him almost sound like he might actually be from New Jersey. Also, like he definitely heard brainwashing anyway, and is politely working out a way not to say What the fuck, even though he's sure Clark can hear that, in return. Companionably.
All kinds of languages are fun, see.
He's taking his coat off, finally, and considering the other wax paper-wrapped sandwich, which he'd have been perfectly able to forget about for hours had Clark not wolfed one down already, highlighting the existence which now burns jealously at the edge of his awareness in an insulated messenger bag.
"But let's give it a go."