He tilts his head a bit, peering at the characters printing out on the screen. It looks wrong, but he can't pin exactly how he knows it's wrong. The knowledge is right there, in the back of his mind, but it's shut out right now - it highlights one of his biggest fears, this way.
Who is he without the combined efforts of everyone else he's taken over?
Tetora's not sulking. That would be juvenile, and uncool, and there wouldn't be a real reason to sulk anyway. He can write - just not with this writing system. It's better than nothing. "There's more squares," he comments; the uncertainty bleeds out clearly in his voice and it annoys him further. "It's more blocky. I don't know how I know, it's just that way."
He's looking over Miller's TAB anyway, any pretense of manners now discarded. Nosiness has always been what he has instead of a hobby. "...So how many friends do you have?"
no subject
Who is he without the combined efforts of everyone else he's taken over?
Tetora's not sulking. That would be juvenile, and uncool, and there wouldn't be a real reason to sulk anyway. He can write - just not with this writing system. It's better than nothing. "There's more squares," he comments; the uncertainty bleeds out clearly in his voice and it annoys him further. "It's more blocky. I don't know how I know, it's just that way."
He's looking over Miller's TAB anyway, any pretense of manners now discarded. Nosiness has always been what he has instead of a hobby. "...So how many friends do you have?"