[ He might have managed it, eventually, without the prodding. Though, Bigby probably expedited the process significantly. Maccready follows in silence, unsure if he should even speak, deciding that not doing so is probably for the better — he doesn't want to go and stick his foot in his mouth before he actually gets a chance to apologise — instead, he keeps his eyes focused on the man, watching the unsteadiness of his gait. It is a blessedly short trip, all things considered, and Maccready continues to leave a few paces between them even as he follows the man into his home.
Once inside, he remains silent, expects some kind of annoyed jab about recklessness, irresponsibility, or the sheer fucking audacity he must have to have been lingering around — he's the last person Bigby wants to see, he's sure. Bigby's actual words have him momentarily floored, mouth agape as he openly stares, as if the man across from him is now the one that's lost his mind. ]
I— What?
[ Eloquent as ever, he merely blinks. Maybe he'd misheard. Maybe he's still the one imagining things. An awkward amount of time passes, Maccready still looking somewhat taken aback by the question, he shakes his head — an attempt at clearing it of whatever metaphorical fog is still left behind — but Bigby's gaze is still on him, and it's becoming apparent he should say something. ]
Kinda feel like that's what I should be asking you, honestly…
[ It's not an answer by any definition. There's an unsubtle drift of his eyes; from Bigby's face and down towards his torso. He feels ill. ]
no subject
Once inside, he remains silent, expects some kind of annoyed jab about recklessness, irresponsibility, or the sheer fucking audacity he must have to have been lingering around — he's the last person Bigby wants to see, he's sure. Bigby's actual words have him momentarily floored, mouth agape as he openly stares, as if the man across from him is now the one that's lost his mind. ]
I— What?
[ Eloquent as ever, he merely blinks. Maybe he'd misheard. Maybe he's still the one imagining things. An awkward amount of time passes, Maccready still looking somewhat taken aback by the question, he shakes his head — an attempt at clearing it of whatever metaphorical fog is still left behind — but Bigby's gaze is still on him, and it's becoming apparent he should say something. ]
Kinda feel like that's what I should be asking you, honestly…
[ It's not an answer by any definition. There's an unsubtle drift of his eyes; from Bigby's face and down towards his torso. He feels ill. ]