[ Angelo purses his lips, eyes narrowing a little. He wants a cigarette; that's a near-constant state of being for him, not just out of habit but because he wants something to do with his hands, something to hold and roll between his fingers. He feels fidgety, wants to move. He stays very still.
He always hates it when people act like they know more than him, when they withhold things from him, especially when he deigns to ask. He drums his fingertips on his hip for a moment, considering whether or not he should stoop to it, but he actually is curious. And talking to people probably isn't a stupid idea, as long as he can keep a head on his thread-thin temper. ]
That explains pretty much nothing, bud. [ A beat, and he leans a little closer, his eyes still on those dextrously moving fingers. ] What is it, origami?
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He always hates it when people act like they know more than him, when they withhold things from him, especially when he deigns to ask. He drums his fingertips on his hip for a moment, considering whether or not he should stoop to it, but he actually is curious. And talking to people probably isn't a stupid idea, as long as he can keep a head on his thread-thin temper. ]
That explains pretty much nothing, bud. [ A beat, and he leans a little closer, his eyes still on those dextrously moving fingers. ] What is it, origami?