[ He certainly isn't wrong; were it a shift up on Chioni, Eiger would indeed have been just inside the door awaiting her return instead of comfortably warmed by the fire crackling steadily for their guest, who the dog seems intent to keep watch over. Likely by command, hence his dutiful post and resisting the urge to go greet Snake. Their training has been panning out quite nicely, no?
Angela isn't bothered by his arrival in the least beyond the faintest hint of nervousness, which can easily be attributed to the fact that someone is in danger of being disturbed while sleeping after the dropped hint of stitches indicating injury, but it is truly less that and more that his identity is what's at stake— too late for that now, unfortunately, and she has no desire to keep Snake in the dark. Not after they'd agreed to take part in one another's lives so closely, and sees her TAB blinking on the counter once she's led them into the relative safety of the kitchen, slender fingers having found their way into his palm with ease that spoke of her comfort with his presence. Yet he tugs his hand away and takes up station at the dividing wall, and that's a firm enough "no" on food.
Right to the point, then. He's suspicious or worried or both, she can only guess, so she'll take the moment to check her TAB— a message from him and one other, less important notification, and her brows draw up apologetically. She'd never been the type to have technology attached to her hip, but she'd forgotten it in the kitchen altogether, without even bothering to check before she'd hopped in the shower. ]
You messaged; I'm sorry I missed it. I'm glad you came anyway.
[ She watches him peer over at Jack before he speaks, and she's depositing her towel through the fridge handle for now, gathering up a cup of coffee for herself and fishing the cream from the fridge to splash in. ]
He does, yes. To be honest, until the other day, I didn't know we were friends either. [ It's spoken with a sense of uncertainty and softness that could only be called residual wonder, as if she still doesn't believe it's real. In some ways she doesn't, though it's growing firmer as the hours tick by and he's still there. She takes a seat at one of the stools nearest him, parked at the little island and mug set on whatever this world's equivalent of granite happened to be, crossing one leg over the other. ] I don't believe I ever had the chance to speak of my commanders in depth to you, from Overwatch. Yet you've seen the pictures I had around my desk. Would you be able to recall them, and if I were to tell you to imagine that man on the sofa being blond?
[ Angela isn't actively trying to be obtuse, but she doesn't want to drown him by pouring out information, either. She'll begin with a framework, building it up around him. Allow him to decide where the doors and windows will go if it gets overwhelming. ]
no subject
Angela isn't bothered by his arrival in the least beyond the faintest hint of nervousness, which can easily be attributed to the fact that someone is in danger of being disturbed while sleeping after the dropped hint of stitches indicating injury, but it is truly less that and more that his identity is what's at stake— too late for that now, unfortunately, and she has no desire to keep Snake in the dark. Not after they'd agreed to take part in one another's lives so closely, and sees her TAB blinking on the counter once she's led them into the relative safety of the kitchen, slender fingers having found their way into his palm with ease that spoke of her comfort with his presence. Yet he tugs his hand away and takes up station at the dividing wall, and that's a firm enough "no" on food.
Right to the point, then. He's suspicious or worried or both, she can only guess, so she'll take the moment to check her TAB— a message from him and one other, less important notification, and her brows draw up apologetically. She'd never been the type to have technology attached to her hip, but she'd forgotten it in the kitchen altogether, without even bothering to check before she'd hopped in the shower. ]
You messaged; I'm sorry I missed it. I'm glad you came anyway.
[ She watches him peer over at Jack before he speaks, and she's depositing her towel through the fridge handle for now, gathering up a cup of coffee for herself and fishing the cream from the fridge to splash in. ]
He does, yes. To be honest, until the other day, I didn't know we were friends either. [ It's spoken with a sense of uncertainty and softness that could only be called residual wonder, as if she still doesn't believe it's real. In some ways she doesn't, though it's growing firmer as the hours tick by and he's still there. She takes a seat at one of the stools nearest him, parked at the little island and mug set on whatever this world's equivalent of granite happened to be, crossing one leg over the other. ] I don't believe I ever had the chance to speak of my commanders in depth to you, from Overwatch. Yet you've seen the pictures I had around my desk. Would you be able to recall them, and if I were to tell you to imagine that man on the sofa being blond?
[ Angela isn't actively trying to be obtuse, but she doesn't want to drown him by pouring out information, either. She'll begin with a framework, building it up around him. Allow him to decide where the doors and windows will go if it gets overwhelming. ]