[ She's pretty. He notes it abstractly—it's just barely adjacent to what he's interested in, which is the guile glimmering beneath. Her demeanor thus far has reminded him of no one so much as Agent Blake, a playfulness that isn't precisely cruel and isn't precisely not. The poking and prodding at people's buttons masking, he suspects, the desire to tear everything down.
She's not, however, lying. ] I appreciate that. [ Said with a dip of the head. His voice is wry: it is a provisional appreciation, subject to revocation.
He steps back, hunching his shoulders. As though her commenting on the cold has intensified it. It's true that he's loath to use the matches. On the other hand, he already ate the fucking food. Never a good idea, not from a realistic nor mythological standpoint. ] Did you keep em? [ The note, the tag.
There's really no point in asking—not her, not himself—what kind of person has a name they've got no use for anymore. ]
lmf I just assumed it was a metaphor that went over my head
She's not, however, lying. ] I appreciate that. [ Said with a dip of the head. His voice is wry: it is a provisional appreciation, subject to revocation.
He steps back, hunching his shoulders. As though her commenting on the cold has intensified it. It's true that he's loath to use the matches. On the other hand, he already ate the fucking food. Never a good idea, not from a realistic nor mythological standpoint. ] Did you keep em? [ The note, the tag.
There's really no point in asking—not her, not himself—what kind of person has a name they've got no use for anymore. ]