Predictably Failing PV Griffith

A ring, someone was pulling the bell. It didn't surprise him anymore, which was a depressing thought. He didn't usually drink coffee, but he had a distinct feeling that he should have. The tall welshman swung the doors to the small aviary closed, before walking with expedited, long steps to the mudroom, and then to the front door, which he opened just enough to peek out.

As soon as he laid one eye on the Head of house that had found herself in front of his door, he closed it again. What in the name of C.S Lewis was going on. Why was she here? It didn't matter, he couldn't wait any longer than the second it had taken him to recover from his initial shock or the spanish inquisition would have a much shorter sequel. He opened the door again, this time wide. He was sure, he was sure he had won. She couldn't stand him, didn't she? Had he messed up when he gave her the chance to calm herself? No, that wasn't enough to redeem him, not to someone like her.

He would have to try something else. He could not afford to be visited by professors. Couldn't afford to let them want to help him. If he didn't keep them away with a ten foot pole, he'd be measuring the floor to ceiling length of his new apartment with a twelve inch ruler. Or at least it would be more likely. His brain worked feverishly to try and figure out what kind of a man this woman would find most contemptuous as he invited her in.

"Didn't expect you so soon, come on in."

He internally winced when he saw exactly how she was dressed. Short red dress that was so muggle it looked like it wanted to start world war three, hair that had taken no less than an hour to perfectly craft with product worth more than most brooms and enough jewelry to outfit a modest street vendor. Sure, she looked beautiful. He wasn't going to lie and say she didn't look good, there really wasn't any point. But it did at least show off again exactly how fastidious she was, which he would have to remember to use against her sometime.

And aside from the fact that the jewelry made him want desperately to make a sarcastic comment telling her to take them off before a niffler ripped off part of her earlobe, he refrained. The act probably awarding him a candidature for sainthood. He could work on the useless lazy waste of space angle, make her think she wasn't worth the time of day, but their last encounter would probably tip her off to the fact that it was an act. Alternatively, he could just stay on the same tack and insult her to the point of near suicide-by-overly-incensed-Head-of-House. Or, he could just pretend that nothing had happened and see what fit the situation. Also known as flying by the seat of your pants.

"If this is a complaint would you mind sending it with an owl? It's easier to ignore."

He didn't think it was, and was frankly through just trying to keep her out of the stables. So he waved at the seat by the desk, which, while far from a posh affair, looked comfortable enough. But as he thought about it, it did dawn on him that maybe it would be best to act like a worthless bum. After all, wouldn't that mean that last time it was that same worthless bum that had made her that annoyed? That was bound to touch some nerve, if it would touch enough of them remained to be seen.

He was dressed as he usually was, long leather coat with cavernous pockets, messy long hair, that, although clean, looked like it hadn't seen a brush for a good while, scraggly beard and heavy boots. He wasn't dirty by any stretch of the word, he kept himself as clean as possible to avoid infecting the creatures he was looking after. But compared to her? If she held others to the same standards she held her fingernails to, he'd have a chance.

And although he cleaned it often, he was still wearing more or less the same outfit that he wore last time they met, and the time before that. If that didn't scream lazy bum, then he didn't know what did.

Hjørdis rolled her eyes as the door shut quickly in her face before she could even react. That was a perfectly expected reaction from the man and she was not sure if there was any point of even bothering to wait for him to reopen it. Hell, at this point in time, she had no idea if he even would. He clearly hated her enough - even though she had done very little to wrong him. At least, from her perspective, she was in the complete and utter right.

But he did reopen it. Hjørdis prepared herself to have to barge in again or made a threat about blowing the enclosure wide open if he did not stop slamming the door in her face. More than anything, it was simply rude. She had expected it, of course but nonetheless, it was rude. And she hated that sort of basic lack of respect more than most people did - and let's be honest, not many people liked it. Disrespectful behaviour was always frowned upon, slamming a door in someone's face was always considered an act of aggression, being an irritating grumpy awful being was never someone's idea of good company.

However he opened it wider. Much wider this time. And then proceeded to invite her in. Of all of the things that Hjørdis expected, openly being welcomed in was definitely not one of them. Her usual emotionless mask dropped off her face for a moment. It was brief but the Scandinavian actually looked taken back by his actions. Almost shocked at the response, especially after she had prepared to start throwing spells left, right and centre. A part of what he said also irked her though. His words almost made it sound like he had expected her to arrive, though just a bit later. Was she really all that predictable?

She felt like she was becoming predictable but she hated the fact that even someone she disliked thought it too. A brief flash of emotion crossed her face. It was mixed in with the shock of the whole thing. Perhaps a hint of awkwardness or maybe embarrassment, as though she had just been caught doing something she ought not to be doing. Maybe it was that, even if only for a brief second, her confidence was being called into question by herself. Her mouth was slightly open, as though she had been ready to say something - or threaten him - but no words came out. Her eyes looked away a little, not able to match his gaze and glare at him as confidently as she usually did. It was hard to tell what emotion it was but it was definitely not an expression that people saw often. Almost as though she had been caught off guard.

Hjørdis immediately tried to compose herself as she caught herself slipping. She silently scolded herself for even showing any hint of emotion and just hoped his attention was drifted in those moments to have missed it. Nonetheless, the Slytherin walked in. Her strides and expression returned to the confidence that people knew her for. "Do you honestly think that anyone would be moronic enough to send you an owl?" She replied, not actually caring for the answer. She would definitely not be sending a letter with any complaints to him because she knew he would not read it. And she knew that he was well aware of that too. Besides, she always preferred to do things face to face, when that option was available.

The female glanced around the room, choosing to remain standing near the desk that he had waved at. It was not the first time that she had entered the enclosures to speak to him but it was the first time that she had done so, without him putting up a fight. "Is there a reason that you have not been at dinner this past week?" She asked, bluntly, "And if there is, I expect to hear said reason." She continued because, knowing the man, he would simply say yes or no and end the conversation there. She would not leave without knowing the reason behind this. There was no point in beating around the bush here. As Head of House, Hjørdis was not only responsible for the students but also for the Professors. There were schedules for them to adhere to.

Meal times were always consistent and it was important that the staff were present there. Not only for them to eat properly but to also be a good influence on the students. It would simply be hypocritical to expect all of the students to eat properly three times a day when the professors failed to do so. Besides, dinner was a good time for the Headmaster to make any announcements or for children to find their professors easily too. She understood that it was a pain, at times. Especially when a group of children endlessly harass you with idiotic questions or a fight breaks out. However, it was still important to be there and show your face. Even on her busier days, she would try to attend for a while. Griffith had not actually been to a dinner in the past week or so.

He almost thought that he had seen something flash across the Slytherin's face. It had almost seemed like something... No, he had to be wrong. There was no way his cheap 'I have been expecting you, Mr. Gadget' trick was going to get him anywhere. He had been imagining things. But maybe he hadn't, because as soon as he tried to meet her gaze and show no fear in the face of the fashionable adversity that was Ms. Jensen, she looked away, just a little bit. Nothing obvious, but there was no steely locking of eyes, no anime style exchange of lighting.

But even if he hadn't been imagining things, even if she really had shown weakness, been surprised. It didn't matter because it was gone now. She fired off an honestly disappointing insult that sounded like it had come from one of his students. 'Who would be dumb enough to send you an owl'? If her gaze hadn't convinced him something was off, this would have. This kind of insult was only one step above 'well, you're a stupidhead'. And it was a very small step, mind you.

He merely raised his eyebrows in response to her rather dull cutting remark. It was a wordless, incredulous 'Really?' that plainly showed he was too disappointing in the quality of her insult to make a comment in return. It simply wasn't worth it, and he wanted her to know it. He immediately realized that a disappointed subtle raising of the eyebrows was probably not the move a worthless bum would make, but it was too late. Assuming, of course, that she had even noticed.

She didn't sit down, but he did, rather heavily. Leaning backwards in his chair, relaxed and clearly not at all worried about her presence. He was worried, honestly. It would have been much nicer if she had come some other day, or never. Never would have been preferable. But as long as he didn't raise too much suspicion, maybe she would be out of his life again. At least until she was feeling especially snobbish and wanted to come back to visit and power trip.

It was then that she divulged the reason behind her showing up. She hadn't noticed him at dinner and had come to find out why? He hadn't pinned her for the petty type, at least not the type that would be blatantly petty. Trying to find a reason as trivial as not eating enough in order to get him in trouble seemed like a rather weak excuse, especially considering that he wasn't her responsibility. Technically, he was Sorrel's.

So what was her angle?

"Oh, well I haven't really been hungry at all and also I don't care. Why do you want to know, anyway? And don't pull your authority crap, I fall under Ms. Wright's jurisdiction when it comes to things like this. But I can offer you a drink of non-alcoholic water, if you've come here to be social. I have nothing against you chillin' for a bit."

Slang. Please, please let her be annoyed by slang. It would make his life so much easier, infinitely so. The welshman steepled his rough fingers, still leaning back, and watched her face intently. Why the hell was she wearing so much jewelry, anyway?

Hjørdis made no comment. She could only silently hope that her colleague did not actually notice any emotions flash on her face. If he did, he did not say anything. Coincidentally, that worked out of the best. She could continue to pretend that she has no emotions. Of course, he noticed her insult lacking any real offence. She ignored the eyebrow that he raised, simply choosing to pretend that he did not notice. It was merely easier that way.

Watching the man in front of her, she observed him sitting down. He looked far too comfortable and relaxed for her liking. As though her presence had absolutely no impact on him. It bothered her. The Slytherin almost snarled but she managed to hold it in. She rolled her eyes, however, as the man's reply. He started again saying that she did not have any authority over him. Hjørdis could not bother to explain once again that all of the Professors came under all of the Head of Houses jurisdiction. They weren't students, after all. However, if he wanted to compare himself to the status of a Gryffindor student then by all means, he was able to do so.

Hjørdis sighed, deciding not to bother making a comment about how false he was. She had so much to say. There was so many things wrong with what he said. She wanted to slap him so badly, for his ridiculous attitude. But instead lowered the tray in her hand, placing it onto the desk in front of him, "I'm not here to pull any 'authority crap' on you. I'm here to see the bird. I have something for him," She replied, taking out one of the boxes from the tray, she held it in her hands. It was for the phoenix that she had met a few times before. Some food. She was also here to make sure that Griffith was doing his job properly. Although she did not say it, he could probably guess that she was also here to inspect the place. At least, assuming she did not already do that.

"Oh... And... Do you have any allergies or dietary requirements?" She continued, pushing the rest of the tray towards him. Although she did not say it, it was for him. The tray contained several tupperware boxes. Each box had food in it, with a variety of different options. In general, they were mostly healthy items. A box of salad, another larger one containing vegetarian pasta, some with meatcakes known as Kjøttkaker made out of beef, one with vegan soup. There were some pieces of garlic bread in another box and a slice of cake in another. Hjørdis had absolutely no idea what sort of food he ate, so she brought a variety of options.

"Now - and more importantly - what would you say to a child who skips meals for a week and then justifies their action by saying that their professor does the same?" Hjørdis asked him, seriously. It annoyed her that he thought the whole world revolved around him. Students needed good role models. It was bad enough that he was setting a terrible example on all of the students but he then had the audacity to simply state that he did not care? There was literally nothing she could say if a student quoted him as inspiration to not eat. It was unacceptable. She refused to allow him to have a bad influence on the children, when it came to something as important as health. These children had gone through enough, as it was.

She ignored his offer on the drink of non-alcoholic water... which was just water. She was not here for a social visit.

He had gotten an eye roll. Considering the circumstances, that was pretty good. The woman in front of him usually did a pretty exemplary job of keeping her emotions to herself, excluding the possible break in concentration he thought he had noticed just a little bit earlier. An eye roll was probably not a calculated move, right? Then again, perhaps she was trying to clearly demonstrate how unamused she was. In his book, unamused was a win. Just another step closer to his goal, another step closer to a safer future.

Technically speaking, she was still above him. But admitting that wasn’t going to get her upset any time soon, so for the time being it was much more advantageous to act like there were only two people above him. Specifically, the two people he thought most likely to not do anything about him, regardless of promptings from the Slytherin Head. The headmaster might do something if severely prodded, but Ms. Wright was far too pacifistic. He didn’t expect any action from her end, and was so confident in this that he hadn’t even bothered making her dislike him yet.

He kept trying to read her face, and kept coming up empty. He still felt just a little bit scared, but not enough to let it show anywhere, at all. He knew how to appear perfectly calm, he knew how to practically radiate it. He had to, it came with the territory. Creatures didn’t react to how pure your heart was, but to your body language, to the tone of your voice. They calmed down if you were calm, and this worked, for the most part, on people as well. Humans act calmer when they’re around someone else calm, unless they just have really bad anxiety, or, in this case, if they don’t want that person to be calm.

He was scared mostly because he knew how dangerous she could be. Although perhaps saying that he knew was a term slightly too strong to be used in this context. He had more of a very good idea that should the two of them fight, he would come out the loser. She was also extremely pretty, which was off-putting, it made it harder to concentrate. Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about maintaining his relaxed exterior, because it was suddenly a lot easier for him. She said she had something for the bird, meaning Perthyn Wendigo, but then also pushed a tray of food towards him, asking if he had any dietary restrictions.

What he found interesting was that the food did not look like anything you would get in the great hall. He leaned forward a little bit, taking his eyes off of the Head of house and focusing entirely on the food, as if to say that she was such a minor concern, or perhaps so non-threatening, that he did not feel the need to watch what she was doing. It was not a big movement, just a tilt of the head to see the food better, something small enough so that it could easily be missed, or perhaps just written off. But if she was as sharp as he thought she was, it would hopefully fulfill it’s purpose.

“Aww, you brought me food. I’m flattered, really. Oh, I mean the bird is flattered. Of course.”

He was pretty sure that the meat cakes in one of the little boxes were the same kind he had eaten for a while in Norway, but wasn’t sure if it was just a coincidence or not. To be honest, if he didn’t know any better he would assume that she had given the house elves specific instructions on what to cook. And that was a move that certainly seemed a bit off. It seemed very off, in fact. There was no way she was worried about him, he knew for a fact that she at least ignored, if not disliked him. He had a bezoar in his pocket in case of poison, too, so that probably wouldn’t be an issue.

Some of his questions were answered when she proceeded to ask him what he would say to a student who hadn’t eaten for a week and used him as an excuse. He knew exactly what he would probably do in a situation like that, but the chances of him actually being honest were practically nonexistent, so he went instead with a likely story.

“I dunno, I guess if they look reeaalllyyy bad I’d send an owl to their Head of house? Isn’t that you guys’ problem?”

Yes, professors were also in charge of the student’s well being, he knew that. In fact, he had helped several students in his time at hogwarts. But why would he tell her? As far as she knew, he hated kids and had nothing at all to do with them, right? One of the other professors had gotten wind of some of his stories, sure, but there was a slim chance that the Snake in front of him had enough of a social life on campus to have heard any of the rumors. And the welshman doubted he was that big of a rumor anyway.

“Well, whatever. What did you bring for “the bird””

Looking back up and leaning back in his chair, he made airquotes with his fingers around “the bird”, brushing off the previous subject as if he didn’t care. Honestly, what she had said did raise some good points. But he just didn’t have the time. Still, the students did need sleep, and good food. A lot of them looked as if they had gotten pulled of the street. He would have to find a way to solve the problem, but the time for figuring out how to make sure the students had good diets was not now. Now was the time to make someone not want to speak with you again.

Hjørdis noticed the man tear his eyes away from her to look at the food. The slight tilt of his head. She understood the purpose of his actions but she did not let it bother her. The truth was, she expected nothing less from the man than to foolishly think he was better than her. If push came to shove, she was fairly confident she could take him. He might have been physically broader, taller and likely a lot stronger but she had fought many people like that and so far, came out pretty unscathed. She simply continued to watch him, seemingly unfazed by it. If anything, he ought to inspect the food more closely. There was no doubt that if the shoe was on the other foot, Hjørdis would not eat a single bite of the food without checking it. She would not trust anything that that man offered her. She did not trust his words, she would not trust his actions. His lack of a response meant that he either had no dietary requirements - or that he did not intend to eat the food anyway. Honestly, she silently questioned why she even bothered in the first place when she knew that all she would do was fail in this situation.

"No need to be flattered. Koldey caught me on my way here." The Professor replied, explaining why she brought him food before he continued to feign that he was overly flattered. It was not her choice, of course. She had no say in the matter. The house elves had sent some food, she was merely bringing it over whilst she came to deliver the food for the Perthyn Wendigo. Koldey was, of course, one of the house elves that worked in the kitchens. Whilst the Head of House was happy to act like she was 'above' everyone - and was arrogant enough to think she was far better than most people - she always took the time to find out the names of the people and house elves that worked with her. She may have been rude and inconsiderate to Griffith but she had a pretty good relationship with the elves.

The man dismissed the serious issue as though it were a joke. They both knew that it was not only the Head of House's problem. She had no doubt that he knew that he was also responsible for them, despite the fact that he chose to act like he was not. "Oh?" She questioned, the blank expression still on her face. Hjørdis wanted to narrow her eyes, grab him by his throat and snarl at him for his response. It annoyed her that he was incapable of being an adult for even one moment. There was no way that she was going to have a mature conversation with this fool of a man. However, she did not let her emotions get the better of her. She just looked at him blankly, holding her disgust in. "Do you have some parchment then? An owl needs to be written." She replied. If his solution to this problem was merely to send an owl to someone else and defer the situation, then that was what she would do. By his own logic, it was not her problem if the student was not a Slytherin.

"Food." She replied curtly as she held up the smaller box that she had taken from the tray, completely ignoring his immature use of air quotes. Sometimes, it honestly felt like she ought to treat him like a child. The food was created specially for the phoenix. By no means would it cure every ailment or health problem the bird had but it would taste good whilst being full of nutrition that never hurt. Hjørdis suspected that he would not trust her enough to actually give the creature food so she placed the box on the table, near the tray, for him to take. He could inspect it himself, if he intended on giving it to Perthyn Wendigo.

Hjørdis could not help but notice his sudden 'comfort' around her. It was quite an interesting development. He seemed to have given up trying to keep her out and instead, invited her in, offered her water and a seat, seemed very laid-back in his chair. She did not trust it for a second but the change is his behaviour was intriguing, nonetheless. Perhaps he was more tactical than he acted. From her first impression of him, strategy did not seem to be his forte. But... perhaps, just maybe, there was a game plan behind all of this facade.

Morfran Griffith was many things. He was burly, extremely muscular, physically fit as only a specialist that worked all day could be. But he was no fighter. He was not much of a tactician either, mediocre at any art of war that you could throw his way, aside from misdirection and running. He was pretty good at running. But stupid swagger was a sure way out of a woman's heart, mind, and friend circle. No one liked the lazy drunkard, no one liked the bragging dope. They avoided him whenever they could, and that was the reaction Griffith was gunning for.

"But what if I want to be flattered? Like, what if I want it lots?"

That was a pretty pathetic line. It almost made him want to grin. To smirk at how he had picked just the right words to make himself sound like a huge brat. Honesty hadn't really worked, neither had flat out insults. She was trouble, and he liked her. Which spelled even more trouble. As a friend, sure her help would be extremely helpful, he acknowledged that. But Griffith was prideful. Stupidly prideful, and stubborn, with just enough cunning thrown in to make his pride worse. He didn't want to be flattered, still, despite his pride. It made him uncomfortable, made him feel like people wanted something from him. But he was acting, and this persona was part of it all.

"I do, actually. That'll be one sickle for the use of my parchment."

The thought did occur to him that if he became truly desperate in the future, he might need her help. And if that situation were to arise, it would be wisest of him to not aggravate her too severely, but it was more or less hopeless. What was he going to do, just stop being a jerk here, in the middle and leave her utterly confused, but maybe not as mad? But then she might think he was toying with her more, which he was, to some extent, but her thinking it more wouldn't help his situation at all. He tried to remind himself that a situation where he would need her would probably never arise, but the doubt nagged at the back of his mind.

"You know what? You might be right. I will strive to show up to a meal at least once every other day, and be a model professor as I do so. I will also make it a point to mention the benefits of nutrition in my class. Sound okay?

He raised an eyebrow, still comfortable in his chair. The best he could hope to salvage from this conversation was maybe a confused hatred. But that was okay. Maybe she'd be too above it all to even care, and would just leave. That would be...

Too good to be true.

The man frustrated her to no ends. Having a conversation with him was like talking to a muggle wall. It was incredibly pointless. And yet, she simply smirked in return, "Oh sweetie, you think I don't know that?" She asked him with a slight tut of her tongue. Of course he wanted to be flattered. Who wouldn't? Hjørdis was smug enough to believe that everyone would want to be flattered. With a light shrug of her shoulders to show that she really did not care much for how he felt, Hjørdis simply replied, "Be flattered then." It did not bother her whether or not he was.

"Charging for school supplies to use for school matters... Huh, makes sense." Hjørdis continued, not letting it bother her. His words made absolutely no sense that he had to have been doing it on purpose to annoy her. Instead of fighting it, she simply dug her hand into her dress, rooted around for a moment before pulling a small purse out of it. Within moments, she had flicked a silver coin towards him, letting it fall onto the desk between them. The sickle rolled a little before falling still on the table, near the tray of food. "Sounds fantastic." Hjørdis replied as he decided that he would show up once every other day and talk about food in his class. 

She leaned forward onto the table, "Well, you better add that into the letter then so that everyone knows the appropriate solution for this. Address the letter to your Head of House. Write about how it's fine for this thirteen year old Gryffindor girl to eat one out of every six meals we provide her. As long as she does that, there's absolutely no reason to worry about her because that is what her favourite professor does." Hjørdis continued, explaining what she needed the parchment for. He wanted to write the student's head of house a letter and leave it to them right? Well, he could write it then. The girl fell under the same house as he did, giving Hjørdis an opportunity to use his own words against him. After all, it was him that decided that she had no power over him because he was a Gryffindor Professor.

"The poor girl appears to have lost quite a lot of weight and her hair keeps falling out... In fact, if you include that into the owl then perhaps your Head of House can just send a copy of this letter to her parents." The Head of Slytherin continued. If Griffith wanted to set a terrible example on his students then so be it. That was his choice. Like he said, he was of a different house to her and therefore he was not her problem. By the same logic, this student was of a different house too and therefore, Hjørdis was permitted to let them both starve. It was of no concern to her. She was not a slytherin student or professor, after all. If she was ridiculous enough to choose this man as her favourite professor then that too was on her. Hjørdis would simply have to allow this student to be a lost cause then.

He was fine and dandy, and although uneasy, was tentatively figuring on a near victory. That was until he realized he had made an error. He had clearly gone too far, his sarcastic remarks and rude tone had clearly been taken just personally enough for him to be sitting in water several degrees above his comfort zone. His brows furrowed as the head of house in front of him called him sweetie, a sure sign that she was about to rip his liver out. He was studying her face, trying to decide on a move he could make to quickly escape from his own office when he saw her hand reaching into her dress.

Griffith felt his hand clench much too quickly, as he quickly opened an empty drawer and pretended to study it's contents. The tip of his nose started to draw just a little more color than it had before, a fact Griffith tried very hard not to think about. Luckily, hearing the silver coin hit the desk, he quickly closed the drawer, picked up the coin and gently tossed it right back a the head of house. Escape was pretty far in the forefront of his mind, but he had no idea how to achieve it.

The color in his nose quickly faded as he heard more and more of what the head of house was saying. Was that actually happening? Was there someone who thought that he was a nice person, or even a favorite professor? A Gryffindor? That was skipping meals? It only took him another few seconds to know that this was checkmate. It was a good run, a fabulous match of wits. He had tried to isolate himself, tried to make himself disliked but not hated, and tried to make as little of an impression as humanely possible.

But no, he had lost. It was game over, checkmate. Griffith swallowed hard. He couldn't help it, this was his achilles heel, his kryptonite. Things that needed help, anything that needed help, anyone that couldn't help themselves, although it was mostly just kids that he felt strongly about. Kids and creatures. Was he actually hurting someone that looked up to him? No, no this had to be a trick. This was some ploy that the queen of snakes was using to defeat him. But at the same time, she didn't seem to be the sort that would lie.

"No, No point in bothering my Head of House, that wouldn't do anything, not anything that would help. Who is it? I can..."

Griffith took a deep breath, he wasn't feeling too great. It was the heavy, sick feeling that came with responsibility, that feeling that told you that a mistake has been made, and someone has suffered, and it was entirely because of something you did. He had been busy, he had been trying to find a cure, he had been trying to fix too many things and in this mad scramble had hurt a child. The sun didn't seem quite so bright, which was an odd observation for his brain to make, considering the lack of any windows to let in natural light in the cramped little office.

"...Don't worry about it, I'll fix this. And I can start showing up more often. At least for a half hour every meal, if time allows."

Griffith wasn't entirely pale, but he was clearly upset. His stony exterior had been successfully breached not once but twice in the course of a few minutes, and he was painfully aware of it. He was doing as good in this conversation as goku did as a father figure, and knew it.