"That's —" Ford started, because he did have things to say in response to that. He had a whole litany of things he could have said about boggarts, and he had been going somewhere a moment ago, not just idly rambling on. He had things in his mind that he'd been about to say, but now all of the sudden he didn't think he could manage it. Macnair was looking at him in that way again, and Ford's mouth had gone too dry to speak. Macnair raised an eyebrow just slightly, as though he was about to ask a question, and Ford knew his answer even though he couldn't have said what it was Macnair was asking: yes, I would.
This was dangerous. He couldn't do this. There were a million other things he needed to devote his attention to, and he was already too restless to pay proper mind to half of them, which was what had seen him wandering down to the club tonight in the first place. He'd been looking for a distraction from daydreaming about Fisk; the last thing that he needed was this. Ford felt his cheeks flush and he took a quick, slightly-too-large gulp of his wine. He'd intended to savor it, since it was such an expensive drink, but now any thought of that was pushed out by the idea that he really needed to find a way to get out of here sooner rather than later.
The wine bolstered him somewhat — or at least it made his mouth less dry. "That's part of it, I think. Imagination. But not — not in the way you're saying." His cheeks flushed again — he hoped Macnair didn't take this as some strange underhanded insult, because that wasn't what Ford had been trying to say. He felt a little incapable of poise and grace at the moment, though, so Macnair was just going to have to make do with whatever words Ford managed to get out and try to piece together his meaning from there. Hopefully Ford would manage not to offend him. "I think boggarts never show me myself because I don't spend much time thinking about the things I'm afraid of."
This was dangerous. He couldn't do this. There were a million other things he needed to devote his attention to, and he was already too restless to pay proper mind to half of them, which was what had seen him wandering down to the club tonight in the first place. He'd been looking for a distraction from daydreaming about Fisk; the last thing that he needed was this. Ford felt his cheeks flush and he took a quick, slightly-too-large gulp of his wine. He'd intended to savor it, since it was such an expensive drink, but now any thought of that was pushed out by the idea that he really needed to find a way to get out of here sooner rather than later.
The wine bolstered him somewhat — or at least it made his mouth less dry. "That's part of it, I think. Imagination. But not — not in the way you're saying." His cheeks flushed again — he hoped Macnair didn't take this as some strange underhanded insult, because that wasn't what Ford had been trying to say. He felt a little incapable of poise and grace at the moment, though, so Macnair was just going to have to make do with whatever words Ford managed to get out and try to piece together his meaning from there. Hopefully Ford would manage not to offend him. "I think boggarts never show me myself because I don't spend much time thinking about the things I'm afraid of."
Set by Lady!