"You just said you didn't want to waste time." Foster's tone is clipped now, impatience overriding his erratic need to attempt niceties. He shifts his weight, agitation adding restlessness. His clawtips bury in his hairline, his gaze moves off Tim and down to his hooves, into the flowers, out over the sea--

If nothing else, his body language is an open book, even if his expression isn't. Because he's still smiling reflexively, even while he sounds ready to...?

To...??

"I'm disposable, diseased garbage. I was born that way, to be stupid--born rotting, poison where I'm not rot, I'm not capable of... of learning!"

His laughter is abrupt and loud, but this time with actual humour--like that is, somehow, truly hilarious to him.