That Teddy can approach the barrage of questions with some amount of levity is a relief for more than one reason. Firstly, her humor towards the whole line of interrogation means she probably isn't actually a child. But secondly, this is just how the two of them communicate, Wrench thinks. Even when they aren't trying to intimidate or confuse a mark, they've got a way of needling at people. Of being demanding or combative. For a moment as he watches Numbers run through a list of alternate possibilities, he realizes how much he's missed it, and a weight settles into his chest like the man in front of him is still lost.
Or maybe it's Wrench who's lost. He wouldn't argue any differently. There's a hell of a lot he simply doesn't know. It's not that he thinks he's beyond learning; rather, his education got pointed in an entirely different direction early on. The lessons he's committed himself to are the ones not learned in the kinds of books people get handed in school. Being good at the sterner stuff has kept him alive, but it's also kept him ignorant. So he watches Teddy with some earnest effort to make sense of what they seem to be struggling to articulate themselves.
Eventually, though, they settle on 'person,' and that seems easy enough. Wrench's green gaze flickers to Numbers and he squints. It's possible he missed something in all of that, and he checks with his partner in a way that's always been second nature to him. An expectation that the other man will fill in the blanks. That he knows more — probably because he's had more opportunity to overhear it — and that he'll fill Wrench in so the tall man isn't caught looking like a total fool.
Person. O-K. Easy.
Too easy, maybe. Deceptively easy, as if Wrench hasn't fully grasped the weight of what's been shared with him. To the man, it's as easy as a name and a point. Maybe a brief description if necessary, but gendered markers are easily avoided, just like higher concepts of identity and philosophy and anything that doesn't relate directly to a person's immediate survival.
Coworkers, he tells Numbers, and when his shoulders shift to address the familiar man, Wrench's signing naturally picks up pace as well. It becomes looser. Lazier, Numbers might accuse. I didn't know what to say. There's a picture of me and them in the upstairs bedroom. We both have wedding rings. People call us S-M-I-T-H-S.
no subject
Or maybe it's Wrench who's lost. He wouldn't argue any differently. There's a hell of a lot he simply doesn't know. It's not that he thinks he's beyond learning; rather, his education got pointed in an entirely different direction early on. The lessons he's committed himself to are the ones not learned in the kinds of books people get handed in school. Being good at the sterner stuff has kept him alive, but it's also kept him ignorant. So he watches Teddy with some earnest effort to make sense of what they seem to be struggling to articulate themselves.
Eventually, though, they settle on 'person,' and that seems easy enough. Wrench's green gaze flickers to Numbers and he squints. It's possible he missed something in all of that, and he checks with his partner in a way that's always been second nature to him. An expectation that the other man will fill in the blanks. That he knows more — probably because he's had more opportunity to overhear it — and that he'll fill Wrench in so the tall man isn't caught looking like a total fool.
Person. O-K. Easy.
Too easy, maybe. Deceptively easy, as if Wrench hasn't fully grasped the weight of what's been shared with him. To the man, it's as easy as a name and a point. Maybe a brief description if necessary, but gendered markers are easily avoided, just like higher concepts of identity and philosophy and anything that doesn't relate directly to a person's immediate survival.
Coworkers, he tells Numbers, and when his shoulders shift to address the familiar man, Wrench's signing naturally picks up pace as well. It becomes looser. Lazier, Numbers might accuse. I didn't know what to say. There's a picture of me and them in the upstairs bedroom. We both have wedding rings. People call us S-M-I-T-H-S.