[ The Judge lifts his head only long enough that Armin might see him shake it, before returning to his rummaging. Finally, his search bears fruit: two pens.
He sets either on the counter, and waits silent for Armin's curiosity to be satisfied. The notebook is a remnant of whatever facet of the world the Entity recreated here. Some pages are written on, but illegible all the same with ink smudged and faded. Finally, he motions for the return of the notebook, and tests the first pen. After a long moment of attempting to make the ink flow - and failing - the Judge tries the other. This one, after a moment more, produces a visible scribble.
Turning to a blank page: So I can communicate with you. The Judge turns the notebook so Armin can see. ]
( realizing the contents are of little import, Armin pages, half interested, through the notebook. he glances to the other, rising into his vision, obliging after another page or two.
offering a small albeit pleased smile, ) Why don't you keep any paper with you?
[ The Judge glances to the notebook for a moment, then: I will now.
He has written on scraps of paper before out of necessity or very rarely out of desire, but never really sought out anything to be able to write more than a few words or sentences. To be sent to Autohaven Wreckers, and for there to be a notebook, is lucky. But he could surely have found one at either of the two schools he's seen - including where he met Armin.
The real reason, then, is that he hasn't wanted to. But to explain that invites question to why he wants to now. The answer to that... the Judge isn't really sure. He likes Armin, beyond the drive he feels to protect the other (or maybe that is a symptom of liking the other).
( another smile. a slight pause. Armin's gaze lifts to the other as he finds his footing. )
Not that... I mind if you don't talk but we've spent a lot of time together. Getting to know each other is good. ( a beat. ) You saved my life again, by the way.
[ The Judge listens, still as Armin speaks. He cannot explain why he does not speak— not yet. But writing, he thinks... writing is alright. If he's here, surely that means that he is being punished, and therefore he no longer has a chance to atone.
(There is more to it, surely, the fact that he does not speak so that others will not know him. The fact that he did not speak because speaking brought forth more sin. If writing is circumventing that, he is choosing not to think of it now. He has always been weak, though his Pride did not allow him to admit it. Perhaps now he is simply ignoring his weakness. He chooses not to think of that, either.)
Armin's assertion that the Judge saved his life earns an inquisitive tilt of his head; a question that needs no explanation from the newly acquired notebook. ]
[ The Judge makes a low sound as he nods, pleased that Armin was able to make use of his instruction. He writes: You are a quick learner. He cannot claim all the praise. There have been others, unable to adapt, relying on those who know more (or are more willing to learn) of technology to secure their escape. One can only run and hide for so long. They are gone, now. That Armin was able to repair generators with only hasty demonstration and written instruction speaks to his intelligence and will both.
The Judge glances around the gas station once more. The single cup coffee maker sometimes works, sometimes doesn't. He has been here a handful of times before. He points to it as he comes around the counter, an offer that Armin can agree or decline without otherwise interrupting their conversation. ]
( with a slight smile, ) That isn't always useful without a teacher.
( turning, ) Is that... The coffee pot? ( Armin is accustom to more archaic methods, but one of the others had mentioned coffee, and the stack of mugs suggests what nothing else does. attention returning to the Judge, ) Does it still work?
[ The Judge glances to Armin, huffing a sound somewhere between amusement and agreement.
He nods that yes, that is the coffee pot, but an exaggerated shrug says 'we'll see' as to whether it works. Setting the mug on the grate, the Judge points to the buttons to indicate what to press. To his surprise, the machine gurgles to life, and a moment later the mug begins slowly filling. ]
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no subject
He sets either on the counter, and waits silent for Armin's curiosity to be satisfied. The notebook is a remnant of whatever facet of the world the Entity recreated here. Some pages are written on, but illegible all the same with ink smudged and faded. Finally, he motions for the return of the notebook, and tests the first pen. After a long moment of attempting to make the ink flow - and failing - the Judge tries the other. This one, after a moment more, produces a visible scribble.
Turning to a blank page: So I can communicate with you. The Judge turns the notebook so Armin can see. ]
no subject
offering a small albeit pleased smile, ) Why don't you keep any paper with you?
no subject
He has written on scraps of paper before out of necessity or very rarely out of desire, but never really sought out anything to be able to write more than a few words or sentences. To be sent to Autohaven Wreckers, and for there to be a notebook, is lucky. But he could surely have found one at either of the two schools he's seen - including where he met Armin.
The real reason, then, is that he hasn't wanted to. But to explain that invites question to why he wants to now. The answer to that... the Judge isn't really sure. He likes Armin, beyond the drive he feels to protect the other (or maybe that is a symptom of liking the other).
No, it's easier to dodge the question entirely. ]
no subject
Not that... I mind if you don't talk but we've spent a lot of time together. Getting to know each other is good. ( a beat. ) You saved my life again, by the way.
no subject
(There is more to it, surely, the fact that he does not speak so that others will not know him. The fact that he did not speak because speaking brought forth more sin. If writing is circumventing that, he is choosing not to think of it now. He has always been weak, though his Pride did not allow him to admit it. Perhaps now he is simply ignoring his weakness. He chooses not to think of that, either.)
Armin's assertion that the Judge saved his life earns an inquisitive tilt of his head; a question that needs no explanation from the newly acquired notebook. ]
no subject
( nonetheless, he was the only survivor to escape. )
no subject
The Judge glances around the gas station once more. The single cup coffee maker sometimes works, sometimes doesn't. He has been here a handful of times before. He points to it as he comes around the counter, an offer that Armin can agree or decline without otherwise interrupting their conversation. ]
no subject
( turning, ) Is that... The coffee pot? ( Armin is accustom to more archaic methods, but one of the others had mentioned coffee, and the stack of mugs suggests what nothing else does. attention returning to the Judge, ) Does it still work?
no subject
He nods that yes, that is the coffee pot, but an exaggerated shrug says 'we'll see' as to whether it works. Setting the mug on the grate, the Judge points to the buttons to indicate what to press. To his surprise, the machine gurgles to life, and a moment later the mug begins slowly filling. ]