He did, a little bit. Not with malice but with panic. (There was some hurl, for one of the texts he held in his reading arm before his hands hit the broken floor edge. He hopes it won't get him hurled in turn.)
His addressee has gone still, and he's struggling. Floundering. He is not a social bug and he does not know what to say, and he is in over his head, so he-
(oh, the anger at something, the empty-come-someone is raging, at what he can't fathom yet but he needs the shadow to calm down)
-comforts himself a bit with a rugged, terribly impolite sigh. Frustration is the only social outlet he has at his disposal.
"Trashing history, are we?" he gestures widely, sounding exasperated, though he doesn't feel anything but scared. "He'd deserve it," Lemm adds like an afterthought, "if he were here."
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His addressee has gone still, and he's struggling. Floundering. He is not a social bug and he does not know what to say, and he is in over his head, so he-
(oh, the anger at something, the empty-come-someone is raging, at what he can't fathom yet but he needs the shadow to calm down)
-comforts himself a bit with a rugged, terribly impolite sigh. Frustration is the only social outlet he has at his disposal.
"Trashing history, are we?" he gestures widely, sounding exasperated, though he doesn't feel anything but scared. "He'd deserve it," Lemm adds like an afterthought, "if he were here."