Grell has to focus considerably to calm his fits of giggles enough to be able to hear what the Undertaker has to say, in reply to all the questions that were presented to him. His breathing remaining heavy for a short time from the exertion of laughing; but mostly because he is trying to stop those humorous hysterics from happening all over again.
"Heavens! My heart goes out to the reapers that had to make do without any corrective lenses at all." Distraction is a good tactic to keep from laughing, when he focuses on this segment of the conversation. "I understand that if it’s all you know, and don’t have any other option, that it wouldn’t seem abnormal. …But I fear that I would get lost trying to cross the room, and poor William wouldn’t even make it two steps out of bed!" More giggles spill forth. Grell’s own eyesight is quite bad, but he knows that William’s is much worse; and he enjoys teasing their hawk on any topic whenever he gets the chance.
His expression turns thoughtful as he regards the direction of Thomas’ voice. “This must be why you don’t find it to be too abnormally difficult to go about without any glasses at all; when like the rest of us, you could no doubt benefit from them.”
Grell looks a bit shocked with what his grey owl goes on to say concerning his past, the beard Thomas apparently had, and the remark about women; which makes the red one instantly picture the bearded lady in the circus sideshow. Grell doesn’t even want to think about himself with facial hair, let alone any of the women that work at their Library, that is just too damn weird! …And then those same mental images of before come creeping back to him, and he cannot contain the humor he finds in the whole situation. Laughter carrying in his voice as he speaks, “I am glad you came to that decision, my darling. I enjoy being able to see your handsome face.” Ignoring, once again, William’s annoyance in the things he says or does. “The only reapers I can think of now that have any sort of facial hair are Pops and Slingby. ..Ronnie once tried to grow a goatee, about fifteen years ago.” Another explosion of giggles, as Grell flail-fans himself with his hand, trying to calm to continue what he has to say. “Lets just say he wasn’t very successful.. and it didn’t look as good on him as he expected it to.” He snickers, “I shaved it off of him one night while he slept.”
What the Undertaker states in reply to William causes near immediate silence in the redhead. Looking quite intrigued, and emotionally touched to hear this. He just stares at the blur that is his silver haired lover for a long moment to let the notion of this sink in, before looking up at William as a wide and loving grin splits his features. “Aww… William~!” He squirms some more in the supervisor’s lap, as he makes these odd little pleased whining sounds. “You -do- love me!” He turns to wrap his arms around the dark haired man as he leans to nuzzle happily against the side of Will’s neck. Another joyous whine is exhaled, when as predicted the red one’s mind burbles with more questions. His speech now slightly muffled since he doesn’t bother to sit up when asking, “Was William my Death?.. When I was mortal, was he the one to reap me? Ooh! That would be so romantic!!”
Asking such questions almost feels as if he is asking about someone else’s dream. As far as he and William know, the first soul their reaped was that of the young writer boy, and they had reaped him together. But in another ‘life’, so to speak, the existence he and William had before their memories and records were tampered with, they had a much deeper connection.
William scowls even more when the redhead in his lap dares to tease him about his own poor eyesight. It is no secret, but it doesn’t mean that he enjoys being a resource for humour. Grell is testing his patience at being allowed to remain so near him. His jaw clenches, speaking through his teeth in reply to the Undertaker in a flat tone, doing his best to ignore Grell’s remarks. “More tea would be lovely, thank you.”
The supervisor’s high annoyance that is nearing anger is disrupted momentarily when Grell recalls the event of Ronald attempting to grow facial hair. He doesn’t comment on it, but he is silently thankful that the red one took matters into his own hands and forced the blonde to be rid of that fashion statement. He cannot even imagine the younger reaper looking that way, nor does he want to. Not reacting to the Undertaker’s own little teasing remarks on the topic. Though it would be odd enough to imagine his creator looking that way as well.
William resumes his quiet brooding, or at least he intends to, that is until Thomas makes that remark on the past that William himself has no recollection of. His eyes widen slightly behind rectangular framed lenses. He has been told before by the retired reaper that he, in those forgotten bygone moments, had shared a close relationship with both of these reapers near him now. That he had a hand in Grell’s development as a new reaper. But, he hadn’t entirely realized just how involved he had been; to actually be the one to select Grell’s soul, and to assist in his creation. That is a very personal position to hold.
The hawk becomes lost in his own thoughts as he stares at the silver haired one across from him. Only jolted away from the inner workings of his own mind at this high pitched sounds Grell is making. He looks to the redhead when he feels those eyes upon him; the way Grell is looking at him makes William wish that the smaller reaper wasn’t presently in his lap. He would brace himself if he only had time. But before he can stop it from happening Grell is clinging to him. His body goes rigid, and he is unable to stop the blood from rushing to the pale skin of his face with the way Grell is nuzzling his neck. He has no idea how to react to this, what he should say, or even do. So he resolves to just sit there, being tense and uncomfortable, not breathing.
Thomas simply appears amused as Grell continues to laugh and wiggle, always pleased to see his lover happy, even if it is at his own expense this time. He is far too old to mind such things at this point. Smiling idly at the commentary. “You do not miss what you have never had, my lady. We might be a fair amount ahead of the human world with some of our technology, but up until fairly recently, all of us, human and reaper alike, had to make do with what sight we had, relying on memory when our eyes failed us.” A soft chuckle. “It is true that our hawk’s eyesight has always been poor, but you must remember, he is quite a bit older than you, and as such, his eyesight is that much worse, as mine is worse than his.” He shrugs. “He has not let that stop him; he is still one of the most distance-accurate reapers I have ever seen. Most need to be quite close to their target to land a blow, but he has honed his distance skills admirably.” He sets his beaker down upon the coffin and uncrosses his legs as he continues, “I find eyeglasses useful, of course, but I cannot allow them to be a crutch. I would rather rely on skills that cannot be taken from me; I had my glasses broken in battle once, and it was part of why I lost something very important as a result.” Not mentioning what or who that could be. “I vowed then that I would stop relying on them and learn to trust my other senses, since you cannot lose what is a part of you.” He chuckles and lifts the end of his braid, toying with it idly as he muses. “It just seemed the thing to do at the time. One of the things that we can do to be able to judge humans with impartiality is to stay with one foot planted in their world, and to change with the times. Beards fell out of favour, and drew more attention than we needed. One needs to blend in with humans, not stand out, So, I shaved.” He shrugs. “It matters little to me otherwise.” He lifts hidden brows in mild amusement at Grell’s renewed giggle-fit over his partner’s inability to grow facial hair. Truly, he finds more to smile about at Grell’s pleasure in it than the situation itself, which is something he hardly has an opinion on.
He smiles again to see Grell climbing into their hawk’s lap, and the inevitable annoyance that crosses William’s face when the redhead does so. It is both humourous and sad, really, that one that craves contact so very badly fights that very need. However, that is his William’s way now, to fight what he needs and desires, to deny himself even the admittance of the need for it. Does he think it makes him weak? Perhaps. However, it does make the supervisor’s rare displays of affection all the more treasured. Moving to prepare more tea for William, enjoying the quiet surprise from the other at his little revelation; he always enjoys being able to catch the surly reaper off-guard, to catch those flashes of his actual personality in those nanoseconds before the wall rises again, and the dark-haired reaper becomes a proverbial statue as Grell clings to him. Not looking up, the mortician murmurs, “for heaven’s sake, mon faucon, just breathe and put your arms around him. He’s not going to try and eat you or strip you at the moment. He just wants your affection.”