He's able to hold onto his anger right up until the moment she says Nigel, and then he just can't manage it any more. Ned's never been very good at staying angry, even in situations where anger would be justified - much moreso than this one. Easier to be mad at the abstract idea of Kenzi, when he's not looking at her and listening to her, with her endearingly well though-out desire for a pet rabbit skeleton. A tiny, reluctant smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, and some of the tension goes out of his shoulders. Only Kenzi could possibly think a rabbit skeleton would make a good pet.
"It wouldn't actually be able to move without any muscles," he points out. Not to crush her hopes and dreams for an army of domesticated small mammals, all in skeletal form. Then again, who knows. Perhaps such a thing is possible. The experiments he'd done with his powers as a kid hadn't been completely exhaustive.
Her 'sorry', however sullen, is appreciated. "Apology accepted," Ned says, and then sighs. Now that his anger is bleeding away, he feels deflated and a little guilty for snapping at her, particularly about the dirty dish. It's not her problem he's a freak, after all.
"And I'm sorry that I'm being so horrible about it."
He sets the plate down on a nearby shelf (hey, the room is already kind of a sty, he doesn't feel bad) and covers his eyes with his hand. What he doesn't want is an apology. What he wants is for it to not happen in the future. The irritation is gone from his voice. Now, he just sounds tired, defeated.
"I mean it, though. I really don't mind cleaning up after you guys, and I guess I don't mind if you go in my room when I'm not there, but this kind of thing-" he indicates the dish with a sideways nod of his head, voice lowering as he finishes "-really freaks me out."
And that's the truth of it; not that he's worried he'll unleash a small, herbivorous zombie army. Just that not knowing when or if his powers might be triggered makes him feel jumpy and anxious: even more jumpy and anxious than he usually is.
no subject
"It wouldn't actually be able to move without any muscles," he points out. Not to crush her hopes and dreams for an army of domesticated small mammals, all in skeletal form. Then again, who knows. Perhaps such a thing is possible. The experiments he'd done with his powers as a kid hadn't been completely exhaustive.
Her 'sorry', however sullen, is appreciated. "Apology accepted," Ned says, and then sighs. Now that his anger is bleeding away, he feels deflated and a little guilty for snapping at her, particularly about the dirty dish. It's not her problem he's a freak, after all.
"And I'm sorry that I'm being so horrible about it."
He sets the plate down on a nearby shelf (hey, the room is already kind of a sty, he doesn't feel bad) and covers his eyes with his hand. What he doesn't want is an apology. What he wants is for it to not happen in the future. The irritation is gone from his voice. Now, he just sounds tired, defeated.
"I mean it, though. I really don't mind cleaning up after you guys, and I guess I don't mind if you go in my room when I'm not there, but this kind of thing-" he indicates the dish with a sideways nod of his head, voice lowering as he finishes "-really freaks me out."
And that's the truth of it; not that he's worried he'll unleash a small, herbivorous zombie army. Just that not knowing when or if his powers might be triggered makes him feel jumpy and anxious: even more jumpy and anxious than he usually is.