[Theres no dress code at the funeral, or memorial, or whatever people feel like calling it. Stanley combed his hair, but his clothes are the same wrinkled jeans he always wears, and one of Jesse's hoodies. The guy's a bit too locked up to object at the moment anyway, though it's not like he ever does. And it's cold. It feels cold anyway.
Kate's outfit doesn't warrant even a glance from Stanley, though she gets one as he decides if he should psych himself up to go over and greet her or not. It's like trying to play hopscotch in tubs of cement, dragging his mind out of the depths of the vacuum that it feels like he's stuck in. But hopefully it doesn't show on his face.
This time he has no technology to impart, and certainly no wisdom. He clears his throat awkwardly before he tries to speak, but his voice still comes out hoarse and grating.]
no subject
Kate's outfit doesn't warrant even a glance from Stanley, though she gets one as he decides if he should psych himself up to go over and greet her or not. It's like trying to play hopscotch in tubs of cement, dragging his mind out of the depths of the vacuum that it feels like he's stuck in. But hopefully it doesn't show on his face.
This time he has no technology to impart, and certainly no wisdom. He clears his throat awkwardly before he tries to speak, but his voice still comes out hoarse and grating.]
You made it.