Part of Dias - the angry, antisocial, competitive part - wanted to give Claude the kind of glare that would leave scorch marks on the wall beyond the boy's head in response to his pointed, condescending question. He was making it extremely obvious that he thought Dias under-informed for the amount of time he'd been here, that he was more or less wondering what the hell Dias had been doing all this time.
However, the part of Dias that was currently in the driver's seat of his psyche - the guilt-ridden, frantic part, faced with the prospect of losing someone else he cared for and being helpless (yet again) to do anything about it - couldn't find any argument against the fact that if he knew more, he might be able to do more for Ashton. What sort of excuse could he possibly offer? How could he excuse himself at all, if his failure cost Ashton?
So there was no glare, no snap of a comeback. In fact, Dias couldn't even look Claude in the eyes - though in a way, their thoughts were running in parallel fashion. If it had been up to Claude, Ashton would have been better off. Claude would have made friends with half the institute if he'd been here anywhere near as long as Dias, would probably have heard five or seven first-hand accounts of experimentation and would have all that knowledge to draw on. Dias had nothing.
Still, brooding would help Ashton even less than what little Dias was capable of. The mercenary had long ago learned that there was a time and place to dwell on his shortcomings, and a dangerous place when there was work that needed to be done was neither. "Move, Leon," he instructed the boy as he approached the door, testing it himself to judge its frailty or lack thereof. "...You and I together could probably knock it open." This was to Claude.
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However, the part of Dias that was currently in the driver's seat of his psyche - the guilt-ridden, frantic part, faced with the prospect of losing someone else he cared for and being helpless (yet again) to do anything about it - couldn't find any argument against the fact that if he knew more, he might be able to do more for Ashton. What sort of excuse could he possibly offer? How could he excuse himself at all, if his failure cost Ashton?
So there was no glare, no snap of a comeback. In fact, Dias couldn't even look Claude in the eyes - though in a way, their thoughts were running in parallel fashion. If it had been up to Claude, Ashton would have been better off. Claude would have made friends with half the institute if he'd been here anywhere near as long as Dias, would probably have heard five or seven first-hand accounts of experimentation and would have all that knowledge to draw on. Dias had nothing.
Still, brooding would help Ashton even less than what little Dias was capable of. The mercenary had long ago learned that there was a time and place to dwell on his shortcomings, and a dangerous place when there was work that needed to be done was neither. "Move, Leon," he instructed the boy as he approached the door, testing it himself to judge its frailty or lack thereof. "...You and I together could probably knock it open." This was to Claude.