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--- resources:fic:a_man_talking_sense_to_himself [2016/05/21 01:29]
thomasl
+++ resources:fic:a_man_talking_sense_to_himself [2016/06/12 18:25] (current)
emmab
@@ Line 158: / Line 158: @@
 "I thought we discussed that."
+"In general, sure. But don't tell me you ever cared about what happened to me."
+"Well, no, not until the end.  Not that we knew it was going to be the end, mind, but the end nevertheless," she says, biting her lip slightly as she does.  "And you're doing it again, Armand: dancing round the issue with your clever words, quietly avoiding answering what you need to answer yourself: what do you want to say?  One shot, one chance, and let's be honest we both know this is for you far more than it is for me."
+Armand straightens. He's painfully tense, he realises - nails biting into the flesh of his palms. "You're right. It is. And so, frankly, there's nothing to say." He's looking at her now - actually seeing her. Unflinching. Calm. "I said everything I needed to back by your coffin." Assuming this vision - this spectre - is even aware of that. "'Thank you' would be insincere. 'I love you'... you'd take it the wrong way. And that's the sort of thing you only say once."
+Penelope looked at him, her eyes, still red from the blood mannequin she once was, looking into his eyes, boring into his soul, and then she smiled: "You really really aren't that arse of a cousin I used to know."
+Armand isn't sure whether to take offence at this, or to laugh. He ends up doing an awkward sort of sputter: indignant, yet undignified.
+"The city tends to do that to you," he says, cautiously. "Political marriage too, oddly. If it doesn't send you the other way instead."
 {{tag>"a man talking sense to himself" fic}}

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