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resources:fic:a_man_talking_sense_to_himself [2016/06/09 15:48] emmab |
resources:fic:a_man_talking_sense_to_himself [2016/06/12 18:25] (current) emmab |
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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." | 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." | ||
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+ | 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." | ||
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+ | 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. | ||
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+ | "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}} | {{tag>"a man talking sense to himself" fic}} |