Wolfgang shrugs, silent for a long while, like they get sometimes — like speaking draws too much attention, or they just run out of words and don't know what to say. They're still looking down, fingers fiddling with a few brightly-coloured plastic bricks.
Of course someone told them it was stupid. They were twelve, old enough to still be playing with toys, but they were the wrong toys.
They pick up one of the little figures, dark-haired with a weird, unnatural skin tone and cheap, poorly sewn clothes. “It's how I learned,” they mumble finally. “When I was a kid.”