[As a boy, he'd take the stairs two or three at a time - however many his legs would allow - and clamber outside to investigate. The world had been something worth hurrying for when he was too young to realize what a disgusting place it was.

Now it was his and going nowhere, because he hadn't commanded it to do so. He's more languid now, in an arrogant, deliberate sort of way, and clearly far too accustomed to being pampered and feared.

The door is shoved open carelessly, and Gilgamesh glares down at Tokiomi, impatient.]

Do not make me wait.