I know what pancakes are! What do you think I'm doing in a place like this? I just--I got a little overwhelmed, that's all.
[Hence, the crying. Nanu is more-or-less correct about the whole 'subsisting on coffee' thing--but not even because Wheatley likes it, or wants to! He'd assumed, given the general activities of Aperture scientists, that having coffee was just something one does in the office, and he's been forcing himself to drink the stuff in an attempt to not arouse suspicion. Food has not yet entered the equation.
Wheatley knows, academically, that he has to eat, but he also doesn't necessarily recognize the feeling of hunger, and has, perhaps, been thinking that if he puts it off as long as possible, they'll figure out the train car and they'll get out of here before he needs to do it. Over the course of the last few days, however, things have become worse, to the point where he can only attribute the strange cramping feelings and lethargy and irritability and brain fog and dizzy spells to an increasing lack of proper nutrients. He looks expectantly at Nanu and Jill, with the hope that they'll change the subject and he can continue to avoid eating, but even Wheatley can recognize when his delusions have reached their limits. He lets out a long-suffering sigh and takes a fork in his fist, letting his forehead drop into his waiting hand, elbow propped up on the table.]
I suppose there's no use in asking either of you to turn around, while this happens? Just going to gawk at me the whole time, for no reason? Is that how this goes? Because, honestly, this is going to be hard to do, if you're watching, but, fine. Okay.
[He's more-or-less talking to himself, at this point, sounding increasingly defeated. Wheatley halfheartedly stabs at the pancake with his fork, wrinkling his nose a little and frowning deeply--the smell is not unpleasant, but as someone recently granted a handful of new senses, it's clear he'd rather not be experiencing any of this at all. When he finally, after a few false starts, manages to shove the fork into his mouth, the reaction is immediate--Wheatley screws up his face and makes an mmphgh sound, some apparent combination of surprise and disgust.]
Oh, this is--
[He doesn't have the words for it. He's not even sure if it tastes bad because he has nothing else to compare it to except for coffee, but the combination of flavor and texture and general wet squishiness is perhaps too much for him to take in. Possibly he looks he's going to start crying again, and despite the fact that they are supposed to be playing it cool, he can't stop himself from shouting in disbelief through a mouthful of half-chewed pancake.]
no subject
[Hence, the crying. Nanu is more-or-less correct about the whole 'subsisting on coffee' thing--but not even because Wheatley likes it, or wants to! He'd assumed, given the general activities of Aperture scientists, that having coffee was just something one does in the office, and he's been forcing himself to drink the stuff in an attempt to not arouse suspicion. Food has not yet entered the equation.
Wheatley knows, academically, that he has to eat, but he also doesn't necessarily recognize the feeling of hunger, and has, perhaps, been thinking that if he puts it off as long as possible, they'll figure out the train car and they'll get out of here before he needs to do it. Over the course of the last few days, however, things have become worse, to the point where he can only attribute the strange cramping feelings and lethargy and irritability and brain fog and dizzy spells to an increasing lack of proper nutrients. He looks expectantly at Nanu and Jill, with the hope that they'll change the subject and he can continue to avoid eating, but even Wheatley can recognize when his delusions have reached their limits. He lets out a long-suffering sigh and takes a fork in his fist, letting his forehead drop into his waiting hand, elbow propped up on the table.]
I suppose there's no use in asking either of you to turn around, while this happens? Just going to gawk at me the whole time, for no reason? Is that how this goes? Because, honestly, this is going to be hard to do, if you're watching, but, fine. Okay.
[He's more-or-less talking to himself, at this point, sounding increasingly defeated. Wheatley halfheartedly stabs at the pancake with his fork, wrinkling his nose a little and frowning deeply--the smell is not unpleasant, but as someone recently granted a handful of new senses, it's clear he'd rather not be experiencing any of this at all. When he finally, after a few false starts, manages to shove the fork into his mouth, the reaction is immediate--Wheatley screws up his face and makes an mmphgh sound, some apparent combination of surprise and disgust.]
Oh, this is--
[He doesn't have the words for it. He's not even sure if it tastes bad because he has nothing else to compare it to except for coffee, but the combination of flavor and texture and general wet squishiness is perhaps too much for him to take in. Possibly he looks he's going to start crying again, and despite the fact that they are supposed to be playing it cool, he can't stop himself from shouting in disbelief through a mouthful of half-chewed pancake.]
You have to do this every day!?