"I'm not exactly overwhelmed by present company, so. I suppose that's something to look forward to." Linden senses that the soft spot isn't quite as vulnerable as he'd expected it to be; like many of his own, there's a thick callus that's nearly impenetrable. Jason's telling him that he's heard this before, perhaps even thought it himself, and having mastered it, it's not a weapon that can be brandished against him to any significant effect.
Jason's retort does have Linden on-edge, for more reasons than what he's saying. The way it's presented, with vicious glee and mania, is hardly reassuring, and something hunted and primal in the back of his brain warns him that he's on the edge of dealing with someone potentially irrational. Linden is wounded in the water, Jason's tasted blood and the only logical way this could go is for there to be a feeding frenzy. But Linden's got old pains, too, and his blood isn't being filtered very well these days, so any bite he manages to get is likely to be more than a little bitter.
He sets his jaw. "And what would a Compson know about good taste?" he asks, also speaking just loudly enough to be heard. "Not that it's your fault. I mean, when it comes down to it, you were screwed either way; if it's a learned behavior, it would require a competent adult role model, and if it's hereditary... well... there's no way to put this delicately, but maybe your father's an Avox, too. I mean, how could you know for sure, considering your mother?"
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Jason's retort does have Linden on-edge, for more reasons than what he's saying. The way it's presented, with vicious glee and mania, is hardly reassuring, and something hunted and primal in the back of his brain warns him that he's on the edge of dealing with someone potentially irrational. Linden is wounded in the water, Jason's tasted blood and the only logical way this could go is for there to be a feeding frenzy. But Linden's got old pains, too, and his blood isn't being filtered very well these days, so any bite he manages to get is likely to be more than a little bitter.
He sets his jaw. "And what would a Compson know about good taste?" he asks, also speaking just loudly enough to be heard. "Not that it's your fault. I mean, when it comes down to it, you were screwed either way; if it's a learned behavior, it would require a competent adult role model, and if it's hereditary... well... there's no way to put this delicately, but maybe your father's an Avox, too. I mean, how could you know for sure, considering your mother?"