Strange is bad with sincerity; allergic to it, sometimes, the way he skittishly sidesteps matters of substance and deflects them with humour, with sarcasm, with his habitual barbs. Humour is easier than real connection, no matter if he could (and should) foster more of the latter. So Tav struggles to express his gratitude and then Strange struggles to accept it in turn, feeling himself flood with a kind of self-consciousness. At least he’s spared having to see the elf’s facial expression; instead they can simply stare out at those same stars and chew over the sentiment.
“I didn’t want you to snap and fling yourself into the Waking Sea. We’re low on mages with healing magic,” he says. It’s yet another deflection, an excuse, a mild joke.
There’s a pause which drags on perhaps a little too long, then: “You’re welcome, though.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2024-08-02 06:57 pm (UTC)“I didn’t want you to snap and fling yourself into the Waking Sea. We’re low on mages with healing magic,” he says. It’s yet another deflection, an excuse, a mild joke.
There’s a pause which drags on perhaps a little too long, then: “You’re welcome, though.”