"I'm not familiar enough with neurology to be able to speculate on exactly how it works," Finch admits, observing the young man since it's certainly better than letting his gaze drift back to the wall.
Intelligent, he thinks, and rude. There'd been no automatic greeting of response to his own hello, not even the nod that passes for basic social courtesies. The vocabulary is that of a scientist. Finch absently wonders if he himself at, oh, eighteen or so, had come off quite like this; Nathan had told him more than once he lacked in the social graces (Nathan, of the effortless charm).
But this young man isn't eighteen... mid-twenties, Harold might say if he had to guess, and if he's a scientist he's a well-dressed one. Most of the 'brain trust' Finch remembers from MIT had been young men (and the rare woman, in those days) more concerned with matters of the mind than matters of their wardrobe. Even in the thinking of it he acknowledges the stereotype-- there's nothing wrong with his own wardrobe these days, is there-- but all the same...
"A warning in the hallway wouldn't be exclusive," he points out mildly. "Doing both would be prudent. Would you mind giving me a hand with this?"
Said as he lifts the blanket, awkwardly. The stiffness of the gesture isn't exaggerated-- that's the bad shoulder, he doesn't need to feign any extra lack of mobility-- but it's also not concealed. He could have used his other arm, but Finch has discovered most people are more willing to help those they perceive as incapable.
no subject
Intelligent, he thinks, and rude. There'd been no automatic greeting of response to his own hello, not even the nod that passes for basic social courtesies. The vocabulary is that of a scientist. Finch absently wonders if he himself at, oh, eighteen or so, had come off quite like this; Nathan had told him more than once he lacked in the social graces (Nathan, of the effortless charm).
But this young man isn't eighteen... mid-twenties, Harold might say if he had to guess, and if he's a scientist he's a well-dressed one. Most of the 'brain trust' Finch remembers from MIT had been young men (and the rare woman, in those days) more concerned with matters of the mind than matters of their wardrobe. Even in the thinking of it he acknowledges the stereotype-- there's nothing wrong with his own wardrobe these days, is there-- but all the same...
"A warning in the hallway wouldn't be exclusive," he points out mildly. "Doing both would be prudent. Would you mind giving me a hand with this?"
Said as he lifts the blanket, awkwardly. The stiffness of the gesture isn't exaggerated-- that's the bad shoulder, he doesn't need to feign any extra lack of mobility-- but it's also not concealed. He could have used his other arm, but Finch has discovered most people are more willing to help those they perceive as incapable.