She's too stunned to immediately know what to say to that, because it's so far from what she expected. Nothing she had picked up on the way he had so easily read her, because her ability to accurately recognize normal healthy human behavior is so far broken. Or he's really practiced at hiding it. And she's pretty sure this goes beyond the socially awkward description she received for the gift exchange.
There is one thing she notices though, and it's his delivery. "I'm not really familiar with those conditions to understand what you experience. You... didn't want to share that information with me, did you?" Ava responds with a tinge of regret at seeing his demeanor shift, for having phrased her question in such a way that he had no choice but to respond. "I'm... sorry, I'm really not trying to take advantage of whatever is causing this," Ava insists quietly. "I prefer honesty, but not at the expense of-" a small gesture. "Your privacy."
But he hadn't changed his mind, inviting her inside. And she doesn't change her mind following him, when perhaps most normal people wouldn't feel comfortable being alone behind closed doors with a man that just admitted to being a psychopath, because perhaps she's a little off herself. Whatever, she's capable of protecting herself.
She does curiously look around the place, stricken immediately by how organized everything was. Not a single thing out of place, and maybe that is a symptom of how he is, she wonders. Nothing at all like her own place back home, full of sentimental belongings of her long dead parents that she couldn't bring herself to get rid of. Or her trailer now, devoid of much of anything at all but some blankets, books, and jars of plants she was trying to grow. She keeps her hands to herself, fidgeting nervously. Feeling as if she might disrupt things with her very presence.
"Oh. If you don't have more of that soup, anything. I'm not too picky," which is mostly true. She's eaten whatever's been provided for her for most of her life that she's ignored her own preferences. But, she's compelled to continue. "Unless it's too chewy. Or too sour. And I'm not really all that fond of mushrooms because they taste like spongy dirt. Or raw vegetables." She makes a bit of a face.
no subject
There is one thing she notices though, and it's his delivery. "I'm not really familiar with those conditions to understand what you experience. You... didn't want to share that information with me, did you?" Ava responds with a tinge of regret at seeing his demeanor shift, for having phrased her question in such a way that he had no choice but to respond. "I'm... sorry, I'm really not trying to take advantage of whatever is causing this," Ava insists quietly. "I prefer honesty, but not at the expense of-" a small gesture. "Your privacy."
But he hadn't changed his mind, inviting her inside. And she doesn't change her mind following him, when perhaps most normal people wouldn't feel comfortable being alone behind closed doors with a man that just admitted to being a psychopath, because perhaps she's a little off herself. Whatever, she's capable of protecting herself.
She does curiously look around the place, stricken immediately by how organized everything was. Not a single thing out of place, and maybe that is a symptom of how he is, she wonders. Nothing at all like her own place back home, full of sentimental belongings of her long dead parents that she couldn't bring herself to get rid of. Or her trailer now, devoid of much of anything at all but some blankets, books, and jars of plants she was trying to grow. She keeps her hands to herself, fidgeting nervously. Feeling as if she might disrupt things with her very presence.
"Oh. If you don't have more of that soup, anything. I'm not too picky," which is mostly true. She's eaten whatever's been provided for her for most of her life that she's ignored her own preferences. But, she's compelled to continue. "Unless it's too chewy. Or too sour. And I'm not really all that fond of mushrooms because they taste like spongy dirt. Or raw vegetables." She makes a bit of a face.