Tidus has never done well with patience. He can pretend - and does, regularly; he's had plenty of practice on the train -, but when it comes down to it, he's too restless. It's a positive for the most part, an unwillingness to give it; but right now, it's a detriment. He can't settle. He can't force his mind to focus on anything else, even if he tries to look outside, to go into the sports gym and throw some hoops.
('What the hell am I doing?' he tells himself; and he carries the apprehension in his heartbeat, like a change will come soon, and it always leads him right back into the standard coach to watch the windows, to pace the halls, to--)
He certainly doesn't see Esteban. Was anyone else in the carriage when he entered? Going to the ICP, willing to throw more at the train - anger, reason, whatever might work - and that's all that was on his mind than anything else. Tidus glances at him, a moodiness pulling down on hid brow, an impatience when he asks:
"Can it wait?"
What can be so important? is the question his tone implies. 'More important than the train letting us out?'
it is day A Day
('What the hell am I doing?' he tells himself; and he carries the apprehension in his heartbeat, like a change will come soon, and it always leads him right back into the standard coach to watch the windows, to pace the halls, to--)
He certainly doesn't see Esteban. Was anyone else in the carriage when he entered? Going to the ICP, willing to throw more at the train - anger, reason, whatever might work - and that's all that was on his mind than anything else. Tidus glances at him, a moodiness pulling down on hid brow, an impatience when he asks:
"Can it wait?"
What can be so important? is the question his tone implies. 'More important than the train letting us out?'