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"Feel free to teach me any time you like and meanwhile really assess what in a sense covers and doesn't and then take a good, hard, look at my back and think about it some more."

Not that he was going to talk to Erskine.

Possibly scream at him a lot, maybe throw things, possibly make creative threats - but not talk. And possibly not talk to the degree that he just waits out his month and goes home without saying a word.

But the advice is sound.

"I took an exceptionally hard look at your back, Scott," he points out mildly, "hence the loss of roughly 10% of your epidermis."

He almost says something else before detouring.

"And there's a difference between 'slow' and 'noncommunicative.' People do occasionally need time to process. And some of the differences between us are proving a little hard for him to swallow. I don't want to push."

"You're right, there is." Maybe more importantly there was enough communication there to understand differences being hard to swallow.

He also finds the comment about looking really hard at his back funnier than he should, given the circumstances. It's an exhausted and grim humor, but my god he thinks it's funny, anyway.

"What kind of differences?"

He just wants to talk.

"He took one look at my room and almost scampered out, as if he didn't deserve to be there."

And the scorn in his voice isn't at all for Fives. It's for the very idea. Fuck that. Those rooms were part of the Luthor mansion. Anyone was an improvement over the man who'd owned it, let alone those who'd walk through it.

"Almost scampered out - but didn't." That's a good start, he thinks, and he understands the scorn and where it's directed and understands, really, what in Fives would draw Clark.

"I spoke to him about that," Clark admits, "even if I kept it short."

That had definitely been part of the 'in a sense' that he'd mentioned.

He smiles, slightly. "You're really good with people who need reassurance and a very specific brand of being taken care of."

"People ought to know that if I take the time to spend with them, they're exceptional," he says with a lift of his chin. "And I don't care about making that clear as many times as necessary. That's all."

His smile is slight, but still there. "You're a really loving person. People are just sometimes a little stupid about it. My temporary inmate wants to meet you, by the way. Try not to strangle him with his intestines."

"Jedao, isn't it?" Because yes, he reads the announcements. "He's welcome to approach me as he likes. Though I make no promises on the intestines, even if the slickness of them does make that more difficult than you'd expect."

"That's the one." He has no idea what Jedao wants, just that it's likely something. Also: "You know, I once had an argument with... Tristan, I think, about the difficulty of breaking a neck. He seemed to think the average human could manage it without much trouble." Too much television, probably.

"Technically, plenty of them are brilliant at it," he answers with a faint snort, "as long as it's their own neck and a decent height."

"Pretty much. The rotational force necessary by hand is just more finicky than you'd think. Well, not than you'd think." People would think. ...He is both a little shocky and a lot tired. This is interesting small talk though!

"It is an intensely satisfying kind of noise," Clark has to admit. Look, he didn't and didn't want to do those kind of things for the most part anymore but he's never made any kind of bones about regretting having done them, exactly.

"It's probably less satisfying when you're hearing it from the inside, but there's a nice crunch." He doesn't want to break anyone's neck, but he's damned hard to rattle.

"I never really enjoyed the crunch," and now it's getting purely academic in a sense, "Crunching always just seemed a bit cruel. Then again, my father did always say I was too quick to put people out of their misery."

And Scott of all people knows his opinions on his father.

"But I digress, I suppose. Or perhaps change of topic?"

He COULD talk about rending anatomy all day but it's more of a topic for he an Tristan than he and Scott.

"Do you think it'd be pure madness to try and put on a play?"

Scott is sincerely and extremely glad of the topic change, actually. His mood is incredibly dark, but there are limits. "I think it'd probably be like trying to herd cats, but I think a lot of people would enjoy the opportunity to work toward something concrete and the opportunity to watch it."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," which is why he's already planning to put up a post offering the idea sometime soon.

"If nothing else, it'll at least be a challenge."

"It'll be a nice diversion from the usual bullshit and it might get some more people interested in Shakespeare." Who knew. "I'll look forward to watching it."

"Not going to take a part yourself?"

Yes, he's baiting him. Or maybe teasing him. Or he might just be curious.

"I don't even have the acting skills to pull of functional person about thirty percent of the time. Pretending to be someone else is probably a leap too far." He's teasing - and baiting - and answering truthfully.

"You say that like I'm expecting Oscar-worth performances," he points out with a bit of a chuckle.

"I say that like I've met me." He smiles with it, though.

"It think you could be a fabulous Oberon," and yes, he's keeping a straight face.

He starts to say something then stops. "Erskine would be good."

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