[He takes the bat, somewhat numbly. His knees are shaking. He's suddenly very aware of them.]
I'm... really good at fucking everything up.
[He laughs a little at his own somewhat dark joke, then laughs some more and takes the bat to some expensive-looking porcelain vases, sending shards flying when it crashes into them.
Angus knows all about being careful. He knows all about what happens when he's not. He's still unlearning years of fear of consequences. He's been largely unsupervised since he ran away from his parents' house -- and it was running away, wasn't it, to suddenly disappear to go live on a moon, leaving nothing but a vague note with no promise of a return -- but even at the Bureau Angus was still operating on his memory of hiding from his dad's stern gaze, the strict insistence he only be referred to as "sir"; his mom's promises of punishment for bad behavior, her following through even when he was sure he got it right this time; and his grandpa's no-nonsense instructions, the fiery temper that followed the man to the grave.
Idly, Angus doesn't want to compare his grandpa to his parents, even if he was just as strict most of the time. But his grandpa was far more caring and compassionate a man than they ever were, and Angus loved him, still loves him. He can't say the same for them.
But this isn't about his parents, even if their memory is what's held him back to this day. This is about Georgia, who he admires and cares about and wants to impress, and how he will probably never actually impress her. From the start, she was skeptical of him. He knows that's just how she is, how she treats everyone, but it stings all the more now that he's sure he just looked like an idiot arguing with her over something she knew way more about.
Of course she knew way more about the world. She's an adult. She'll always know better than him. Even if he can out-detective any adult in his world, he doesn't really know shit. She has the experience to tell him the world is cruel and wicked and the good guys aren't really good guys and they probably won't win.
But he wants her to feel like one of the good guys, at least. Because even still, he knows in his heart that she is. The ones that seek the truth are always the good guys. Angus can't let that part of him go.
Because if he does admit he's wrong about that, then he really doesn't know shit and nothing can protect him from losing his world and his loved ones and his own life to things like the Hunger anymore.
Angus looks up at Clementine and realizes he's been smashing and re-smashing the already-shattered pieces of the last vase he hit on the ground for a while now. He remembers to breathe.]
You're... You're from a world like Georgia's. But... worse. I'm-- I'm such an idiot.
[He wipes his eyes automatically, and he realizes how tearful he is almost as suddenly as he realized Clementine was still in the room.]
You both know so much better than me. I can't even count the number of serial murders I've solved and I still don't know anything.
someday it will take me less than 100 years per tag and they'll be less than 100 miles in length
I'm... really good at fucking everything up.
[He laughs a little at his own somewhat dark joke, then laughs some more and takes the bat to some expensive-looking porcelain vases, sending shards flying when it crashes into them.
Angus knows all about being careful. He knows all about what happens when he's not. He's still unlearning years of fear of consequences. He's been largely unsupervised since he ran away from his parents' house -- and it was running away, wasn't it, to suddenly disappear to go live on a moon, leaving nothing but a vague note with no promise of a return -- but even at the Bureau Angus was still operating on his memory of hiding from his dad's stern gaze, the strict insistence he only be referred to as "sir"; his mom's promises of punishment for bad behavior, her following through even when he was sure he got it right this time; and his grandpa's no-nonsense instructions, the fiery temper that followed the man to the grave.
Idly, Angus doesn't want to compare his grandpa to his parents, even if he was just as strict most of the time. But his grandpa was far more caring and compassionate a man than they ever were, and Angus loved him, still loves him. He can't say the same for them.
But this isn't about his parents, even if their memory is what's held him back to this day. This is about Georgia, who he admires and cares about and wants to impress, and how he will probably never actually impress her. From the start, she was skeptical of him. He knows that's just how she is, how she treats everyone, but it stings all the more now that he's sure he just looked like an idiot arguing with her over something she knew way more about.
Of course she knew way more about the world. She's an adult. She'll always know better than him. Even if he can out-detective any adult in his world, he doesn't really know shit. She has the experience to tell him the world is cruel and wicked and the good guys aren't really good guys and they probably won't win.
But he wants her to feel like one of the good guys, at least. Because even still, he knows in his heart that she is. The ones that seek the truth are always the good guys. Angus can't let that part of him go.
Because if he does admit he's wrong about that, then he really doesn't know shit and nothing can protect him from losing his world and his loved ones and his own life to things like the Hunger anymore.
Angus looks up at Clementine and realizes he's been smashing and re-smashing the already-shattered pieces of the last vase he hit on the ground for a while now. He remembers to breathe.]
You're... You're from a world like Georgia's. But... worse. I'm-- I'm such an idiot.
[He wipes his eyes automatically, and he realizes how tearful he is almost as suddenly as he realized Clementine was still in the room.]
You both know so much better than me. I can't even count the number of serial murders I've solved and I still don't know anything.