"Right," says Martin, warming to the idea as Daine describes it. "Yeah, that - I can do that. That'd be great." He smiles in gratitude for the thought, for a moment staying put before he realizes what she's actually suggesting is that he work on it now. Which makes sense, of course, the sooner the better; but there's also the underlying hint is that this, whatever she's about to do - or whatever she's about to do with John - is private.
That, too, makes sense. John is overwhelmed and frustrated and probably wants as little attention as possible while this happens. Still, it's hard not to feel a bit stung - he's every bit as invested in helping him acclimate to this as Daine is, if not moreso; it's just that there's not a great deal he can actually do. Being shooed away onto a different task better suited to his small, specific skillset is too familiar for it not to hurt.
But he's being childish; he knows that. He gets to his feet slowly, nodding to Daine as she heads to the WC, and waits long enough to see her step back out. Her cat form is so fluffy and charming he almost can't resist being outwardly delighted, though he manages to school his expression into something more serious and befitting the occasion. This whole thing is just so weird, the least he can do is pretend it's... not? Also a bit too familiar, really.
The bedroom is really the only space there is for him to sequester himself, and he heads in and shuts the door gently behind him. It feels... odd, uncomfortable, to be letting John out of his sight, but he trusts Daine has this in hand.
He doesn't have a lot in the way of supplies to actually make this grid she's suggested - he'll need to go shopping tomorrow anyway, to get whatever John needs, and he can pick up some sort of poster stock then. For now, he settles onto his bed and begins making a list of words on his phone.
There isn't much to hear from outside - even a cat that doesn't know how to use his body is quiet, he supposes - and before long he starts to feel the loneliness sink back in. No capital L this time, at least, but it's still a bit of a pain, feeling sorry for himself when he's just. Fine. When no self-aggrandizing 'warlock' decided to bully him with a completely undeserved existential crisis of a prank. When his flat is not, in fact, empty. When not even an hour ago he was literally holding John to his chest.
Best not to think about that, really. He breathes out like he's trying to physically excise these unwanted thoughts, and settles in to focus on the task he's been given.
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That, too, makes sense. John is overwhelmed and frustrated and probably wants as little attention as possible while this happens. Still, it's hard not to feel a bit stung - he's every bit as invested in helping him acclimate to this as Daine is, if not moreso; it's just that there's not a great deal he can actually do. Being shooed away onto a different task better suited to his small, specific skillset is too familiar for it not to hurt.
But he's being childish; he knows that. He gets to his feet slowly, nodding to Daine as she heads to the WC, and waits long enough to see her step back out. Her cat form is so fluffy and charming he almost can't resist being outwardly delighted, though he manages to school his expression into something more serious and befitting the occasion. This whole thing is just so weird, the least he can do is pretend it's... not? Also a bit too familiar, really.
The bedroom is really the only space there is for him to sequester himself, and he heads in and shuts the door gently behind him. It feels... odd, uncomfortable, to be letting John out of his sight, but he trusts Daine has this in hand.
He doesn't have a lot in the way of supplies to actually make this grid she's suggested - he'll need to go shopping tomorrow anyway, to get whatever John needs, and he can pick up some sort of poster stock then. For now, he settles onto his bed and begins making a list of words on his phone.
There isn't much to hear from outside - even a cat that doesn't know how to use his body is quiet, he supposes - and before long he starts to feel the loneliness sink back in. No capital L this time, at least, but it's still a bit of a pain, feeling sorry for himself when he's just. Fine. When no self-aggrandizing 'warlock' decided to bully him with a completely undeserved existential crisis of a prank. When his flat is not, in fact, empty. When not even an hour ago he was literally holding John to his chest.
Best not to think about that, really. He breathes out like he's trying to physically excise these unwanted thoughts, and settles in to focus on the task he's been given.