[ They may need to cede to the unfortunate, nonsensical reality that human beings have strong feelings about much that hardly warrants it. Food, colors, sports teams. (Hermann might be himself more susceptible than he'd like to admit to the latter.)
It may be a talent of Mr. Cheng's, or something honed, to perceive the impending death of this, but Hermann's not particularly discreet. It isn't an intention to be rude so much as a willingness to accept it as a casualty of necessity. Nothing good or useful can come of this conversation. He's already assumed Mr. Cheng has been given the needed exposition, so all that's left for Hermann, it seems, is to be laughed at by a boy half his age. Who may or may not be an alcoholic. Are all teenage boys alcoholic? They'd had a knack for getting it at his institution. Even if Hermann hadn't been so young, even if he'd been invited, he wouldn't have --
Hermann finishes his coffee in the next too large swallow. Over the brim, wry and dry, still risking rudeness. ]
For some of us, our curiosity is specific to our field. I am uninterested in my peers -- in people.
[ With that, he sets down the cup, a pointed clink. He's just reaching for his cane, beginning to turn away, shaping a goodbye on his tongue, when --
Robotic insects.
His hand falls, resting on the bartop. His body stops twisting. Hermann looks at Mr. Cheng, his eyebrows raising. ]
Robotic insects. Why? Do you know much about the process? I suppose it's a trade secret, but a gist?
[ Small enough for medical uses or perhaps intended for observation? Reconnaissance? He can think of thirteen purposes in the moment, more coming, and damn, but Mr. Cheng has his attention. ]
please feel free to ignore my slow ass (AND I REACHED HENRY!!!!)
It may be a talent of Mr. Cheng's, or something honed, to perceive the impending death of this, but Hermann's not particularly discreet. It isn't an intention to be rude so much as a willingness to accept it as a casualty of necessity. Nothing good or useful can come of this conversation. He's already assumed Mr. Cheng has been given the needed exposition, so all that's left for Hermann, it seems, is to be laughed at by a boy half his age. Who may or may not be an alcoholic. Are all teenage boys alcoholic? They'd had a knack for getting it at his institution. Even if Hermann hadn't been so young, even if he'd been invited, he wouldn't have --
Hermann finishes his coffee in the next too large swallow. Over the brim, wry and dry, still risking rudeness. ]
For some of us, our curiosity is specific to our field. I am uninterested in my peers -- in people.
[ With that, he sets down the cup, a pointed clink. He's just reaching for his cane, beginning to turn away, shaping a goodbye on his tongue, when --
Robotic insects.
His hand falls, resting on the bartop. His body stops twisting. Hermann looks at Mr. Cheng, his eyebrows raising. ]
Robotic insects. Why? Do you know much about the process? I suppose it's a trade secret, but a gist?
[ Small enough for medical uses or perhaps intended for observation? Reconnaissance? He can think of thirteen purposes in the moment, more coming, and damn, but Mr. Cheng has his attention. ]