[Will knows he's an old fart; Winry won't ever have to worry about making him feel older. He's well-aware of his decrepit, ancient age around teenagers.
She might be saying too terribly much about what Briggs, about what it is that makes the memories not the best, but she's saying enough for Will Graham. He can still walk and talk, can listen, but the environment around them morphs. Snow so deep that she wasn't prepared for it, a cold that pierces and stings and burns hot, ambushed by a climate that required previous consideration and, for whatever reason, that hadn't happened. It's entirely possible that line of thought, ambush leading into something like betrayal is projection on his end, insertion. It's possible the spatters of blood he adds to that deep snow weren't there, but everything's been quite tainted. They show up anyway.
And then it changes again, those blood stains wiped out and a cabin, the snow minimal, the cold present but easier to deal with, an old woman calling children in and perhaps having to put up with a few pouty faces because the snowman wasn't quite finished yet...that's the better thing to focus on here, isn't it. So what's the best thing to focus on within that?
Well, everyone likes food.]
Have you ever had peach cider? [He asks after a moment of silence, the environment going back to what it was and therefore not as notable, Will looking back at her with the attempted smile a reflection of Winry's. Mirror image of bittersweet, though narrowing in on the sweet instead.] Most people use in apples in their cider. I'm assuming that's what you meant, too.
[There is a hint of apology in his tone—assuming can lead to wrong conclusions on a constant basis, he's open to being corrected. If his assumption is a silly stupid thing, hopefully she can forgive him.]
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She might be saying too terribly much about what Briggs, about what it is that makes the memories not the best, but she's saying enough for Will Graham. He can still walk and talk, can listen, but the environment around them morphs. Snow so deep that she wasn't prepared for it, a cold that pierces and stings and burns hot, ambushed by a climate that required previous consideration and, for whatever reason, that hadn't happened. It's entirely possible that line of thought, ambush leading into something like betrayal is projection on his end, insertion. It's possible the spatters of blood he adds to that deep snow weren't there, but everything's been quite tainted. They show up anyway.
And then it changes again, those blood stains wiped out and a cabin, the snow minimal, the cold present but easier to deal with, an old woman calling children in and perhaps having to put up with a few pouty faces because the snowman wasn't quite finished yet...that's the better thing to focus on here, isn't it. So what's the best thing to focus on within that?
Well, everyone likes food.]
Have you ever had peach cider? [He asks after a moment of silence, the environment going back to what it was and therefore not as notable, Will looking back at her with the attempted smile a reflection of Winry's. Mirror image of bittersweet, though narrowing in on the sweet instead.] Most people use in apples in their cider. I'm assuming that's what you meant, too.
[There is a hint of apology in his tone—assuming can lead to wrong conclusions on a constant basis, he's open to being corrected. If his assumption is a silly stupid thing, hopefully she can forgive him.]