"...I'm built to withstand more than most people can."
The Fool does not lose his small, wistful smile, and his gaze on Devin lingers a moment or two longer, even after his friend looks away from him. At length he sighs. "Of that," he replies, "I have no doubt."
Even the strongest among men must have their breaking points, but the Fool doesn't say this aloud. It is either a fact that Devin already knows, or one that he has refused to let himself know; if he refuses to acknowledge a weakness of will or in the strength of his own body, perhaps he believes he can push past his own limitations. It's a mindset not altogether foreign to the Fool. Fitz, he recalls, was all too willing to compartmentalize the needs of the body--his pain, his grief, his suffering--if it meant protecting others. (If it meant protecting him.)
(They could turn spotting parallels in each other into a drinking game.)
"Well," he begins again lightly after a brief pause, but seems unsure suddenly of what to say. Instead he reaches for the canister of arnica once more and then stands up. "I shall wrap this for you. We wouldn't want it leaking in your pockets on your walk home." He takes a few small steps back into his small kitchenette and fetches out some wax paper, then adds over his shoulder, "And I assume if I receive any other 'requests' for protection money, I ought to contact the Sentry rather than you?" It had been curious instinct that bid him reach out to Devin in the first place, but the Fool does not wish to become a burden upon anyone.
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The Fool does not lose his small, wistful smile, and his gaze on Devin lingers a moment or two longer, even after his friend looks away from him. At length he sighs. "Of that," he replies, "I have no doubt."
Even the strongest among men must have their breaking points, but the Fool doesn't say this aloud. It is either a fact that Devin already knows, or one that he has refused to let himself know; if he refuses to acknowledge a weakness of will or in the strength of his own body, perhaps he believes he can push past his own limitations. It's a mindset not altogether foreign to the Fool. Fitz, he recalls, was all too willing to compartmentalize the needs of the body--his pain, his grief, his suffering--if it meant protecting others. (If it meant protecting him.)
(They could turn spotting parallels in each other into a drinking game.)
"Well," he begins again lightly after a brief pause, but seems unsure suddenly of what to say. Instead he reaches for the canister of arnica once more and then stands up. "I shall wrap this for you. We wouldn't want it leaking in your pockets on your walk home." He takes a few small steps back into his small kitchenette and fetches out some wax paper, then adds over his shoulder, "And I assume if I receive any other 'requests' for protection money, I ought to contact the Sentry rather than you?" It had been curious instinct that bid him reach out to Devin in the first place, but the Fool does not wish to become a burden upon anyone.