[James speaks a language reliant on predictions; he understands. The question finds his mouth curling at one corner, a wry, almost-smile. Is he all right? It's a good question.]
Will be, [he finally says, and sets himself down on the bed beside Cassel, hands linking between his knees.] Suppose that will have to be good enough.
[His mouth curls a little harder, and it is a smile now, even if it's not entirely pleasant. He has a meanness to him that comes through even when he doesn't mean it to.] Didn't bite you too badly, did I?
spam;
Will be, [he finally says, and sets himself down on the bed beside Cassel, hands linking between his knees.] Suppose that will have to be good enough.
[His mouth curls a little harder, and it is a smile now, even if it's not entirely pleasant. He has a meanness to him that comes through even when he doesn't mean it to.] Didn't bite you too badly, did I?