...I see. Thank you. [ Kim graciously accepts the spool of thread and slips it in his pocket. He's not sure what synapses are firing to make Artemy believe in the symbolism he's rambling about now, but he has to admit that while the symbolic nature of the gift is wholly lost on him, the useful nature of it is not; he did actually pick up a small, inexpensive mending kit, and it came with only as much thread as they could fit around a small scrap of cardboard. An entire spool is a luxurious thing in comparison.
He taps his foot as he waits for Artemy to open the door, quietly hoping that they won't have to simply break in. Or that this isn't his home at all. God, he doesn't relish the idea of explaining to some righteously cantankerous lost soul that Artemy means no harm; he is just simply very, very addled in the head. ]
What do the sick have to do with anything? [ He asks instead. ] Despite everything, everyone here seems to be in good health.
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He taps his foot as he waits for Artemy to open the door, quietly hoping that they won't have to simply break in. Or that this isn't his home at all. God, he doesn't relish the idea of explaining to some righteously cantankerous lost soul that Artemy means no harm; he is just simply very, very addled in the head. ]
What do the sick have to do with anything? [ He asks instead. ] Despite everything, everyone here seems to be in good health.