here in my quiet satellite
#5
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Her response was hardly a surprise; no explanation for being there or doing what she was doing, just a simple sarcastic retort. Of course, the cyclops was still groggy and hardly able to think straight, and thus his direct reply to her comment was a stupid, groggy scowl pointed directed at her. For a brief amount of time, his worries and frustrations had been put to rest while he'd dozed off. Such thoughts were still dismissed from his mind in the process of waking up, though the sight of her delighted him nonetheless. Her presence somehow made him a little happier; he could not explain why, nor did he ever expect it as such.


He watched her a long while when she returned to her writing and scribbling. Jefferson was no good at writing, considering he'd hardly tried, and the process of reteaching the art of reading to himself was an ongoing process of unending effort and frustration. After some time, he leaned forward again and watched a little more closely, then gently spoke up. "What are you writing?" He muttered, withholding how impressed--and almost jealous--he was by the skill.

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