[Whatever's going on in his head, it's certainly best left in there. He glances at Ochako upon her return, a bit more clarity in his eyes despite the strained furrow of his brow. Ah, the kid. He takes the glass carefully, his gaze sparing as he simply holds the offering. The coolness is a reminder, as are a lot of things. Coolness, a real glass. Flooring underfoot, not grains of sand. Air, good temperature, clean, not the filthy heat that chokes or the cold that gets into your bones.
Ochako, certainly not part of the wastelands.
He clears his dry throat.]
... Thanks.
[He carefully tastes a drink at last; there's some measure of trust there, because for anyone outside of this ship? He would automatically assume the worst of them. This could be poisoned, his mind tells him. Water offered without pay could be a trap. But it's not. He's on the fleet, and water's plentiful.
What should he say? He takes some time to think, his adrenaline stilling a little more despite how vice-like the pressure is on his heart.]
action;
Ochako, certainly not part of the wastelands.
He clears his dry throat.]
... Thanks.
[He carefully tastes a drink at last; there's some measure of trust there, because for anyone outside of this ship? He would automatically assume the worst of them. This could be poisoned, his mind tells him. Water offered without pay could be a trap. But it's not. He's on the fleet, and water's plentiful.
What should he say? He takes some time to think, his adrenaline stilling a little more despite how vice-like the pressure is on his heart.]
... Can't sleep?