Anders shrugged. His gaze fell first on Mari, who sat hunched in a pathetic tiny ball on the sofa. She didn't like the newcomer or the mood that was in the house at the moment. He had to agree, he had always wanted to hide as a kid when things got... heated, at home.
He refused to look at Kat, so his gaze wandered to its go to. His fish tank. Watching the fish swim around had always had a calming effect, an escape, a focus. Max had become that too but she wasn't here at the moment and it wouldn't be fair to drag her into this mess. Even if she knew all the details.
Anders had been the only Johnson brother to have pets growing up. Fish and a guinea pig. He actually liked animals. He didn't like when they died. He didn't like death at all. Or blood. Or pain. Words could hurt, belittle people, incite anger and other emotions, but they didn't do true harm. But if you picked the right words, the right phrases, the tone, all at the perfect timing. It was the interpretation of them, the inflections you could use, knowing how the person you used them on would react... That was the harm. Not the words themselves. It was what people put into them and what the others heard or saw within or behind them. Words were powerful things. And in the wrong hands... dangerous.
"She reminds of my brother. In a way," he said absently. The Johnsons were quick to anger and judgment too. He wasn't sure if it came from their mother or father. Or just from the situation of their fucked up upbringing.
He blinked at the mention of 'god thing'. Then laughed. A short, harsh, bitter sound. "I suppose everyone knows that now?" He shook his head, still refusing to look at her. "He doesn't like you. I wouldn't take it personally, it's more to do with your dad. Neither of us like various versions of him."
((OOC: That turned out a hell of a lot longer than I was expecting... damn muse))