"Have I — what?"

There are a number of things that Isaac would like to do right now. None of them are what he does. Hissing out a hard breath, he stoops, hand reaching for Edgard's to roughly tug him up.

"Sit," He points emphatically to the rifled desk, the chair beside. If he's doing some brief mental calculus as to whether Edgard is actually that stupid — "You and I are going to talk."

Well. It matters less than underlining consequence.