General

Quincy lived in his head. I know we all do to a degree, but it was most pronounced with him. It was like his body was no more than a vessel to take him to interesting things to read and knowledgeable people to talk to. He didn't want to exercise or be "cool." Emotions were something alien to him, he barely understood his own let alone anyone else's. I once saw Nancy start to cry next to him and he patted her head gently like she was a dog, his face as scared as I would be confronting a knife-wielding maniac. He could never follow a conversation either, whatever I said he'd reply with a sort of educational statement about whatever he was working on. It wasn't that he didn't care, just that he wasn't born with the faculties to understand how to relate to people. Once I didn't talk to him for a month and he just showed up at my door with a kitten, figuring he'd done something wrong but he didn't know what. That's when I realized I was part of his life, not just part of the scenery...