It was obvious that the more Klavier spoke, the more Albedo grew tense. The tendons in his arms tightened to stand out, the plastic casing of the pen bending the slightest bit. His expression grew more solemn, more defensive. 'Rather upset'? Why? When was this?--Like he even knew what day today was. His head still hurt, throbbing to an unknown beat. Why hadn't--Albedo would have to ask how Rubedo had came off that day. Angry was one thing, sad another. Both had specific sets of circumstances that would provoke them, and if Albedo narrowed that down....

Mouth had framed 'no' before thinking, eyes blinking in surprise. That's right. A game. And now he couldn't ask. It wasn't his turn. Albedo nodded once, changing the paper to suit the new outcome. He then waited, eyes steady on his opponent.

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