Mmh. [ Kim's expression is inscrutable. Part of his demeanor is hard-won, earned through years of learning how best to keep himself from getting hurt. The other part is entirely natural; Kim has never been a particularly expressive person, and what had read as being socially defunct as a young child now allows him to simply look as though he's careful, collected, composed. In truth, he's trying to read her, to figure out what's going on in that brain of hers. It's clear that there's more to Andromache than what meets the eye, but he doesn't know what that is. Even after their conversations, he knows vanishingly little about her: just her name, her favourite brand of cigarettes, that she reacts violently to unease, both towards others and towards herself. ] I expect only what people are capable of, [ he says firmly. ] Whether or not they believe that they're capable doesn't necessarily reflect the reality of the situation. Besides, [ he adds, rolling a shoulder in a shrug, ] you hardly need to warn me against disappointment.

[ Disappointment is the guiding force of Kim's entire life. It has been nothing but disappointment after disappointment. Disappointment in Dolorianism, in the reality of his parents, in the communists and moralists alike, in the RCM. There has never been anything in Kim's life that he has believed in that has not disappointed him, including himself. After all that, no disappointment could possibly shatter him now.

He closes the distance between them and holds out the Haniwa. A peace offering. ]

You'll try, [ he says firmly. ] I'll hold you to that. All it takes is practice, you know.

[ To try again. Like a muscle you had forgotten existed, slowly creaking back to life, sore with disuse but not yet withered away. ]