Garrot, just minutes ago, word-vomited out the identity of his father's killer. To everyone. And ever since that moment, he's been trying so hard to keep his emotions back, to keep everything repressed until he has time to breathe. Garrot, naturally, does not have time for... for this.
"You're trying to talk me down from asking." The words are curt and controlled, a conscious decision to try and keep Gyre from throwing punches, but those same words are coming in fast. Garrot sees those fists, and he will happily break them if this doesn't course-correct. "Their eyes turn into fire. They don't have to do anything. I can't force them. But I can give them ideas. Maybe they'll listen." There's a forceful exhale of air from his nose, an attempt at releasing the tension that makes him want to pounce and rip that elf's mouthy little throat out. He's dead, it'd just grow back anyway. And there'd be a mess.
"Sxicq fixed a hospital they plan on destroying in a few days. They've answered my questions multiple times." Garrot puts his hands at his waist, ever-so-close to a superhero pose; he knows he's in the right here. "They're willing to help, so I'm going to ask them everything I can," and suddenly he's glaring at the elf. "I'm not looking back on this and thinking I could've done more to help people. That I didn't try hard enough." Despite the glaring and the posturing, Garrot has a hint of desperation in his voice. Gyre's heart is in the right place, but...
"I can't just accept whatever the Protector and Wizard or you tell me is possible. Nobody knows everything." Gyre wouldn't know it for sure, but Garrot's actually quoting the Wizard! "You keep assuming you know what Sxicq wants, but you were surprised by what I had to say. You're not in charge, and I'm not trying to get your permission." Garrot's got thirty seconds, tops, before he starts throwing punches. In the hospital that he cordoned off.
"So are you gonna keep this going, or can I go grieve?" Yep, he's playing the Dead Dad Card! That's how much he wants to leave, Gyre. Because the alternative would be, well, a lot more violent. And in front of everyone.
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"You're trying to talk me down from asking." The words are curt and controlled, a conscious decision to try and keep Gyre from throwing punches, but those same words are coming in fast. Garrot sees those fists, and he will happily break them if this doesn't course-correct. "Their eyes turn into fire. They don't have to do anything. I can't force them. But I can give them ideas. Maybe they'll listen." There's a forceful exhale of air from his nose, an attempt at releasing the tension that makes him want to pounce and rip that elf's mouthy little throat out. He's dead, it'd just grow back anyway. And there'd be a mess.
"Sxicq fixed a hospital they plan on destroying in a few days. They've answered my questions multiple times." Garrot puts his hands at his waist, ever-so-close to a superhero pose; he knows he's in the right here. "They're willing to help, so I'm going to ask them everything I can," and suddenly he's glaring at the elf. "I'm not looking back on this and thinking I could've done more to help people. That I didn't try hard enough." Despite the glaring and the posturing, Garrot has a hint of desperation in his voice. Gyre's heart is in the right place, but...
"I can't just accept whatever the Protector and Wizard or you tell me is possible. Nobody knows everything." Gyre wouldn't know it for sure, but Garrot's actually quoting the Wizard! "You keep assuming you know what Sxicq wants, but you were surprised by what I had to say. You're not in charge, and I'm not trying to get your permission." Garrot's got thirty seconds, tops, before he starts throwing punches. In the hospital that he cordoned off.
"So are you gonna keep this going, or can I go grieve?" Yep, he's playing the Dead Dad Card! That's how much he wants to leave, Gyre. Because the alternative would be, well, a lot more violent. And in front of everyone.