He's about to stride forward, to reach out and physically turn the other man toward him. He doesn't like this. Doesn't like feeling as if there's a threat somewhere. He never really has. It sets off all kinds of alarm bells, putting him in an even worse mood than before.
It has to show on his face. Except the angered expression quickly turns to shock, seeing the robotic limb. Shock... and then something else.
Some distant, unfocused look.
As if he's been smashed in the face with a load of bricks. And, in a way, he has. It's nothing so dramatic as what Benjamin has encountered. But, suddenly, painfully, abruptly, he knows the face he's been seeing in the mirror for fifty years now...
... it's not the face he should be seeing. His face should be... metal. Rugged, worn, mechanical. As the rest of him should be. He can see it in his mind's eye, and it drives the words right out of him.
no subject
It has to show on his face. Except the angered expression quickly turns to shock, seeing the robotic limb. Shock... and then something else.
Some distant, unfocused look.
As if he's been smashed in the face with a load of bricks. And, in a way, he has. It's nothing so dramatic as what Benjamin has encountered. But, suddenly, painfully, abruptly, he knows the face he's been seeing in the mirror for fifty years now...
... it's not the face he should be seeing. His face should be... metal. Rugged, worn, mechanical. As the rest of him should be. He can see it in his mind's eye, and it drives the words right out of him.