Dexter Blanche Just two thick, eyeless goggles staring into your soul.
Is that supposed to help? Because that’s not helping. Melvin is attaining new levels of stress that even he was not aware existed. Dexter’s speech mannerisms could be a little overwhelming at calmer, nicer times. He enjoys exactly nothing about what is being said right now.
Especially that! He knows when he’s being accused of something even when people think they’re too polite to say it directly. Before he can panic and make it even Worse for himself, ow, again. He winces when Fenna’s grip tightens, but at least she’s willing to speak up in his defense. Not feeling completely backed into a corner means he can formulate something that doesn’t sound like he’s just digging a grave for himself.
“Yeah, I didn’t do shit, man! Back off.”
That might have been more convincing if he sounded at all confident, but he’s still a little freaked about everything. He doesn’t really appreciate the way Abel was looking at him, but at least he… stops doing that soon enough. It still really sucks that anyone even considered he might have had anything to do with this, but it sounds like Abel agrees that he’s in the clear too now. Hooray…?
Unfortunately, he doesn’t really have any better ideas. Fenna was pretty blatantly preoccupied, Dexter and Abel could back each other up… which left them with a few scraps of evidence. Nifty. Awesome. God, he’s not smart enough for this. Someone tell him what to do so he doesn’t have to think about this any more. Jack… admittedly did seem like the easy option here. He said he was Good At Murder, after all. Something about that feels kind of weird, but he figures it’s just residual discomfort from Dexter’s… whatever that was.
“… He’d have to be dumber than me to do it when everyone already thought he was gonna.” It’s not really a point in Jack’s defense, per se, but it’s the closest thing to a contribution that crossed his mind.
