[In lieu of an answer, he ducks his head and splashes his hair until it lies flat on his skull, long enough now to drape both his eyes. He calmly extends a hand for the soap and works up a lather between his palms, scrubbing at his scalp and behind his ears and the nape of his neck with the pads of his fingers. His movements are vigorous, briskly efficient, and after a rinse and another soaping, he washes out the foam and leans back with the wine in hand. He takes a long, thoughtful swallow and then another, gazing straight ahead, at nothing in particular, lazily swirling the bottle. It'd be a long while before the water cooled off, with the fire in the built-in stove snapping into a few hunks of wood; he stretches out his legs, in no hurry to pick up where Hector left off.]
no subject
Why are you here...?
[He looks at Hector after a long beat.]
Why choose this when you are not without choice?