For once, they appear to be in agreement, although on Erik it isn't optimism, but fatalism. He is fated to destroy Shaw, otherwise what has he been doing his entire life? Who will avenge Edie if he doesn't?
His nod back is short, his smile grim. "Either find a way or make one." A one-shouldered roll of a shrug, mouth hidden by his glass, eyes colorless above it. "Or break one."
Because why not add that, for the benefit of the camera he can see over the refrigerator. He looks directly at it for a second, challenging, and then folds his long hands in front of him. "Get changed. Get settled in," he instructs, the sneer suggesting he is commanding Charles to do something deeply unworthy of either of their attention. "I'll see what I can do with this lot."
'This lot' being the somewhat meager supply of canned things on the countertop, which Erik indicates with a hand. It's a hugely British phrase for him to be using, but if Erik is largely closing himself off he's also sticking more closely to Charles than usual, and that means picking up more of his speech.
While Charles takes himself off to pick through the supply of clothing that is all markedly too big for him, Erik shucks his uniform in his bedroom fortress and notes the varying array of bruising induced by the plane crash, but judges he has no more serious injury than a little discoloration and soreness. He doesn't let it slow him down. Meanwhile he's found a button down and pair of slacks that fit ....sort of well, although the trousers hang off of his hips and the shirt is tight at the shoulders while baggy everywhere else, but it's serviceable enough. (Neatening his hair in the bathroom mirror is less an afterthought than it is some kind of--unexpressed need, as if he's going to get to feel normal here at all.)
The meal he cobbles together (there are no usable condiments in the fridge, but some mostly empty spices still gather dust at the back of one cupboard) involves very tired looking string beans and some kind of tinned fish soaked in salt. Erik's jaw tightens, wherever Charles arrives in the middle of his manhandling dinner; they need better quality food or malnutrition is going to set in very quickly. Another person might not think that far ahead, and Erik tells himself it's only theoretical; they won't be here long enough for it to matter--
no subject
His nod back is short, his smile grim. "Either find a way or make one." A one-shouldered roll of a shrug, mouth hidden by his glass, eyes colorless above it. "Or break one."
Because why not add that, for the benefit of the camera he can see over the refrigerator. He looks directly at it for a second, challenging, and then folds his long hands in front of him. "Get changed. Get settled in," he instructs, the sneer suggesting he is commanding Charles to do something deeply unworthy of either of their attention. "I'll see what I can do with this lot."
'This lot' being the somewhat meager supply of canned things on the countertop, which Erik indicates with a hand. It's a hugely British phrase for him to be using, but if Erik is largely closing himself off he's also sticking more closely to Charles than usual, and that means picking up more of his speech.
While Charles takes himself off to pick through the supply of clothing that is all markedly too big for him, Erik shucks his uniform
in his bedroom fortressand notes the varying array of bruising induced by the plane crash, but judges he has no more serious injury than a little discoloration and soreness. He doesn't let it slow him down. Meanwhile he's found a button down and pair of slacks that fit ....sort of well, although the trousers hang off of his hips and the shirt is tight at the shoulders while baggy everywhere else, but it's serviceable enough. (Neatening his hair in the bathroom mirror is less an afterthought than it is some kind of--unexpressed need, as if he's going to get to feel normal here at all.)The meal he cobbles together (there are no usable condiments in the fridge, but some mostly empty spices still gather dust at the back of one cupboard) involves very tired looking string beans and some kind of tinned fish soaked in salt. Erik's jaw tightens, wherever Charles arrives in the middle of his manhandling dinner; they need better quality food or malnutrition is going to set in very quickly. Another person might not think that far ahead, and Erik tells himself it's only theoretical; they won't be here long enough for it to matter--
But it's still there.