For once, there isn't any sign of boredom or irritation on Eustace's face; rather, they've all been chased away by deep concentration as he tries to follow the young man's gestures, putting together the pieces as best he can. His throat—no, his voice? Unable to speak? Cautiously, he voices the flow of his thoughts aloud. ]
sorry for how late this is and also how stupid i am as i cry and guess at charades
For once, there isn't any sign of boredom or irritation on Eustace's face; rather, they've all been chased away by deep concentration as he tries to follow the young man's gestures, putting together the pieces as best he can. His throat—no, his voice? Unable to speak? Cautiously, he voices the flow of his thoughts aloud. ]
You can't speak?