resources:fic:a_man_talking_sense_to_himself
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resources:fic:a_man_talking_sense_to_himself [2016/05/16 16:33] emmab |
resources:fic:a_man_talking_sense_to_himself [2016/05/19 14:58] emmab |
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| Armand gives what is not so much an eyeroll as it is a full-bodied exercise in extreme derision. "How the fuck am I meant to judge what'll interest you? All that stuff, you knew already. I can only assume." | Armand gives what is not so much an eyeroll as it is a full-bodied exercise in extreme derision. "How the fuck am I meant to judge what'll interest you? All that stuff, you knew already. I can only assume." | ||
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| + | "It's irrelevant if it will only interest me. Go on, you've got me here, what's of interest to you? What do you want to say?" | ||
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| + | //Don't patronise me//. Is what he's meant to say. Is what he tries to say, in fact - but all of a sudden, halfway through, it's too much: she's dead, and it's too much, and before he can speak, the tears are hot against his lashes, and nothing in the world could make him blink them away, acknowledge this idiocy - | ||
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| + | "Don't - //damn// it..." | ||
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| + | Her brow furrows into a frown, "Hey, come on, don't... oh Armand, come on..." | ||
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| + | "//What//?" Audible sniff. "I'm not. I'm not doing anything." | ||
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| + | "Of course you're not," she says, hopping off the desk and sitting down on a chair, "but since you might not get a chance to continue to not do anything again any time soon... that's okay." | ||
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| + | "That's okay?" he repeats, derisively, swiping his sleeve over his eyes - and okay, fuck, she definitely saw //that//. "I don't need you to tell me what's okay! Gods - it's like I'm more cut up about this than you are. You don't have to worry about anything anymore. You just get to sit there, smug in your martyrdom." | ||
| {{tag>"a man talking sense to himself" fic}} | {{tag>"a man talking sense to himself" fic}} | ||
resources/fic/a_man_talking_sense_to_himself.txt ยท Last modified: 2016/06/12 18:25 by emmab
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