[ Ian doesn't steer away from eye contact. Doesn't seem bothered or intimidated by it, he isn't shy, he isn't self-conscious. He has never had social anxiety, and his casual unobtrusive friendly confidence has been a practiced talent since high school. Admittedly, it started as a desperate bid for friendship, it developed through peer pressure, but eventually as he got older it became natural. More effortless.
Why worry about surface level interactions? The top layer is bullshit, it isn't real. People are easy. Social is easy. You say the right things, you smile right, you ask the right questions and you demonstrate empathy, it's easy to make someone believe that you're closer than you are.
And then eventually the relationship ends because all relationships do, you slip out without having given any of yourself away, and they rarely even notice that it's happening until it's already over. Oh shit, I haven't talked to Ian in a while, I wonder how he's doing.
And then it's done.
No point getting worked up about something like that.
Which isn't to say he's entirely disingenuous, he does like people. He likes learning about them, he likes getting to know them, he likes the friendly period while it lasts - sometimes that's a few years, sometimes it's just a few weeks, sometimes it's two or three meetings and then you fall out of each other's orbit. He gets his fulfillment during this time. Gets to pretend like he doesn't have any deeper running issues, because he surely can't, right? He knows people he has a social life, he's friendly, he knows Greg's cat's name, that's relating to people right?
Close enough. Good enough. Didn't really matter at the end of the fucking world anyway, why bother when everyone's gonna die.
His smile goes from wide to smaller, but sincere. ]
Well, I'll be honest, it's a little bit untrue to call it single-handed. I gotta give credit where it's due. I'm not a fighter, and that bunker was fucking full of... nightmare fuel. It took a hell of a lot people a lot stronger than me to get in.
[ He peels up his sleeve a little to show the wide swath of bandage. He'd probably be dead, because even with a battle-trained escort he took a deep gauge to somewhere disturbingly close to his neck. ]
But if you wanna know the deep, mysterious complexities of how I ended it...
[ He leans in close, conspiratorially, glancing left and then right like it's a big secret.
Stage whispers: ]
I found the power cord and snipped it with wire cutters.
[ Yep. No big genius hacking initiate system CSI Miami two people one keyboard scene. Just chopping the power source to the system. ]
no subject
Why worry about surface level interactions? The top layer is bullshit, it isn't real. People are easy. Social is easy. You say the right things, you smile right, you ask the right questions and you demonstrate empathy, it's easy to make someone believe that you're closer than you are.
And then eventually the relationship ends because all relationships do, you slip out without having given any of yourself away, and they rarely even notice that it's happening until it's already over. Oh shit, I haven't talked to Ian in a while, I wonder how he's doing.
And then it's done.
No point getting worked up about something like that.
Which isn't to say he's entirely disingenuous, he does like people. He likes learning about them, he likes getting to know them, he likes the friendly period while it lasts - sometimes that's a few years, sometimes it's just a few weeks, sometimes it's two or three meetings and then you fall out of each other's orbit. He gets his fulfillment during this time. Gets to pretend like he doesn't have any deeper running issues, because he surely can't, right? He knows people he has a social life, he's friendly, he knows Greg's cat's name, that's relating to people right?
Close enough. Good enough. Didn't really matter at the end of the fucking world anyway, why bother when everyone's gonna die.
His smile goes from wide to smaller, but sincere. ]
Well, I'll be honest, it's a little bit untrue to call it single-handed. I gotta give credit where it's due. I'm not a fighter, and that bunker was fucking full of... nightmare fuel. It took a hell of a lot people a lot stronger than me to get in.
[ He peels up his sleeve a little to show the wide swath of bandage. He'd probably be dead, because even with a battle-trained escort he took a deep gauge to somewhere disturbingly close to his neck. ]
But if you wanna know the deep, mysterious complexities of how I ended it...
[ He leans in close, conspiratorially, glancing left and then right like it's a big secret.
Stage whispers: ]
I found the power cord and snipped it with wire cutters.
[ Yep. No big genius hacking initiate system CSI Miami two people one keyboard scene. Just chopping the power source to the system. ]