they carry all they lack

"So...what do you do with everyone else's expectations?"

"What do I do with them?"

Lanz's crossed arms are a stance, a habit, rather than the façade of security Sena gets when, if, she huffs.

Lanz is always huffing. Always scorning the world.

Maybe it was a stupid question; she's had access to his memories for weeks, now.

She knows what he does with them.

He carries them, lugging, on his back, so that whatever deadweight those sneers and snickers get him down down down, they're at least not sloughing off onto anyone else.

"I eat 'em for breakfast, Sena."