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“...That’s a lot of sugar.”
It was a simple observation, spoken without judgment. Gil tilted himself slightly sideways to watch in fascination as another packet of sweetener went into his Guardian’s cup of tea.
Kivu Cir didn’t pause in adding a fourth packet and stirring well, though his eyes flicked up to settle on his Ghost, his mouth softening with the slightest of curves.
“I find the burst of energy granted by something sweet to be...most inspiring,” he murmured, the minor pause in his reply due to him taking a sip of bracingly hot black tea.
“You can just admit to liking the taste, you know,” Gil pointed out, a mild reproof with no real criticism behind it. “There’s nothing wrong with having a sweet tooth.”
“Ah, there’s where you’re wrong, I fear,” the Warlock said with a tiny shake of his head and another faint smile hidden behind his cup. “I do have a certain image to maintain, after all.”
Gil rolled fully upright, as if coming to attention, hovered there a moment, then tilted the opposite direction as before, and this time the movement read as sheepish rather than curious. “...Yes, I suppose the idea of Thrawn himself emptying half the sugar-bowl into his morning caf is a bit...illusion-breaking, isn’t it.”
“Precisely.” He took a longer draught, his bright eyes falling half-closed with pleasure, a rare expression that even Gil had only ever seen in a handful of situations like this, regarding some sort of exceptional food or drink. “They needn’t ever know how much of the resources budget goes into obtaining real, pure sugar. Their willing suspense of disbelief must be protected at all costs.”
“...At the cost of whoever finances that budget, you mean.”
“Yes.” Kivu Cir swirled the tea in its clear cup, admiring the rich amber hue and the way the morning sunlight filtered through it before granting himself another long, lingering pull from the glass. “That is indeed precisely what I mean.”
“...Aren’t you going to add any sugar?”
Tellos Cir took his time turning a closed, blank look up at the Ghost hovering close by, taking care to pour and replace the carafe of steaming coffee before doing so.
“Why should I?” It was a flat question, spoken without the faintest modicum of curiosity, and one to which he obviously expected--and desired--no response. He already knew the answer anyway, from the quiver of hurt hesitance that rippled through the little machine’s spikes: the Other Man must have liked it that way.
“...Doesn’t it-” Gil began, but the Awoken Guardian cut him off, a smooth and implacable interjection.
“I see no reason to add something so unnecessary. I desire the caffeine content, and nothing more.”
“But the taste-”
“Irrelevant. And adequate enough as it is.”
Silence fell. The Ghost sagged in place, his points drooping in a melancholy sort of way. The Warlock drank his coffee and returned his attention to the collection of reports in front of him.
After a moment, the Ghost drew himself upright, an almost pugnacious tilt in the way he held himself, and spoke aloud with a quiet sort of reverence:
“...‘Life itself is a bitter enough brew. I see no harm in finding a bit of sweetness, a secret pleasure, wherever we may.’ ”
The Warlock continued looking over his collection of datapads in silence, unmoved.
“Foolishness,” he scoffed at last, muttering low under his breath--but still loud enough for Gil to hear. “The trite wisdom of a dead man is worth little enough.”
Sensing nearby motion, Tellos Cir reflexively glanced up--and couldn’t quite hide a start of surprise or stop his eyes from briefly going wide when he found the Ghost hovering close, mere inches from his face.
“He didn't think so.”
Gil didn’t sound angry, not quite, but there was a controlled tension in his every word, each intoned with a slow, careful weight, like a deliberate laying of stones:
“Which is the only reason that you’re here at all.”