|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Jul 24, 2013 12:46 am
She was eloquent? Micah’s hand rose to her chest, raking her nails across the flesh there as she considered his – definite – compliment. She smiled despite herself, muttering, “You keep telling me things no one else ever has. I talk so much that people don’t care to listen because they figure I have nothing worthwhile to say.” She swirled the excess sauce on her plate around absently with one tong of her fork, again avoiding eye contact. “First, you called me something like… a flashlight. And no one has even bothered to call me anything but… angry… aggressive… obnoxious. Someone once called me capricious. And these are all true but…” She looked back up, searching out Alois’ eyes, shocked again by the intensity in color. “But you’re so kind to me.”
Her grin split her face open and crinkled her nose. Her eyes narrowed to happy slits with the strength of her smile and she look – and felt – as though she might break into bright laughter at any moment. “I’ve… I’ve only really got Millie and Jett as friends. Even after two years here. Granted, the seven months overseas didn’t help but…” Micah dropped the subject, deciding that maybe she didn’t have a clear enough grasp of the emotion she was trying to explain to actually vocalize it.
“But here I’ve been talking about myself and I know hardly anything about you. You’re from Germany, near the border. You’ve been here… three months, right? Gold eyes, leg injury, black hair but… beyond that… there’s nothing. And as much as I love puzzles I can’t really do much without pieces, you know?” Her grin didn’t falter, though she did lower her legs to the ground and open her stance up. “Would you tell me about Germany? I’ve only ever seen pictures, too.” She propped her chin up on her hand, beaming like an idiot as she listened. “Where did you live? Friends? Anything, I’m starving for information.”
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jul 24, 2013 9:38 pm
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to rebuke her for her childish notions of compliments and kindness. He wanted to explain all of his depraved history, his orchestrated acts, his caustic studies on the human mind. Mostly he wanted to explain how absolutely abrasive he was, how he was no different than drinking lye and bathing in sulfuric acid.
And he wanted to hurt her.
Instead he quashed the welling inclination to spoil his image, ruin her mood and destroy his plans. The payoff wasn't high enough.
He avoided responding to her statement about his kindness. "I don't sink your lack of friends is a reflection on you. Consider it zis way - zese people are stranded in ze middle of a war, yes? Naturally zeir bonds wis' each ozzer are stronger, and zey haf' little reason to welcome some outsider. Zeir resources are stretched sin, in zis case emotional resources, so zey haf' next to nossing to contribute to a stranger. On top of zat, what if zat stranger is working wis' ze enemy? Why would zey want to welcome you, given zat risk?" He hadn't encountered the same problem himself, surprisingly. In Germany he had few friends due to his vitriolic demeanor, but here... People seemed more welcoming toward his acerbic wit.
Alois sighed; now she wanted to know about his life, and he detested the subject greatly. How might he explain himself to her now? How could he vocalize the strength of the woods interspersed within the borders or the bitter amplitude of his life? He couldn't. He refrained from trusting her with such intricacies. To do so would topple the tower of Babel and split their already tenuous communication. He had little desire to speak in foreign tongues unless it furthered his goals.
"Zere's not much to tell," he started. He understood the necessity of spinning his stories while he spoke, and trusted himself to the task. After all, this wasn't so different from his typical endeavors around other people. Lying was a method of survival. "I obviously lif' here, but you already figured zat out. I don't really haf' any friends, not anymore. Most of zem are back in Germany, and I just meet people in passing here." He paused, gaze wandering through the room, from photos to appliances to backsplash tiles. "As for Germany... It's heavily forested. I can't really explain it to you in great detail. It's one of zose places you just haf' to see, or ask someone who speaks English as a natif' language." He laughed at his own shortcomings.
"I'm sorry, I just... My life is boring. I would put you to sleep wis' all ze pointless little details." For a brief moment, he directed his gaze toward the floor tiles and lost interest in his food. He lighted the fork on his plate, seeking to balance it precariously on the raised edge. It seemed a useful endeavor at the time. "You can keep talking about yourself instead."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jul 24, 2013 10:21 pm
Alois was strange. Very strange. Micah sort of wished he had a tail, that way she would know if he liked her or not. She considered him for a long moment, gnawing on her lip as she thought. At this point, she was going to start bleeding if she peeled any more layers of skin away from them. Was he redacting his compliment? Hardening it to stoicism? Explaining the compliment further? Her brow knitted together nervously, working herself back up as she thought about it. Maybe it was time to move onto another subject.
That wasn’t really what she had in mind.
Micah closed herself back up, tucking her legs back under her to sit like a bird on the edge of her chair.
“About myself,” she parroted, moistening her lips to try and avoid biting them anymore. “Like… fun facts or hopes and dreams?” Where did she even start? Micah didn’t take regular stock of herself, she didn’t really care enough to. Didn’t like herself enough to.
“Ah… my favorite color is… violet. I’m a walking encyclopedia of useless information like… the gestational period of a brown mouse is 21 days. And they have 11 to 17 pups. I like to eat. Anything really, I’m not picky. But I especially like my mom’s beef stew. Really I like anything slow-cooked best. Well, actually, my very favorite kind of food is anything sweet. Especially chocolate.” Micah paused, trying to think of whatever else she could tell Alois. “I want to… move back to Scotland and be a housewife. Maybe open a catering business form my kitchen or something. I really want to be a subsistence farmer, too. I have a small vegetable patch outside, actually. It’s my first year, so it’s not all that impressive but it’s mine, you know? Tiny herb garden next to that – what do you want to know specifically?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 25, 2013 12:10 am
Alois drummed his fingers on the table restlessly. As she listed off minute facts about herself, random trite behaviors, he found his previous statement entirely unsatisfying. Nothing she mentioned held any import. He felt no need to index such arbitrary drivel. Surely there must be more to her than stilted dreams and unconscionably boring life goals.
Thus, he must prod harder.
"I should'f been more specific," he replied, shouldering the blame for once. It felt strange, almost wholly incorrect. "I want to know what drives you. What motivates you. What prompts you to do ze sings you do." He might as well get to the point, right? What use was there in beating around the bush and praying for answers to drop onto his outstretched palms? "It's a lot to ask, but..." His words tapered to silence. Even as he considered the benefits of his labors, it seemed too simple. Too straightforward. Too easy.
And yet he regretted asking. Soliciting someone's belief system didn't warrant such backlash, he knew that. But... Conversely, it produced a relatively quick relationship consisting of using her beliefs to rend the information from her bones. It wouldn't be the first time, but he wanted to attempt a slower, more subtle approach. However, this wasn't some stilted conversation occurring through text. He couldn't redact his prior question. Unless she refrained from trusting him with that information, which her body language implied, then he already foiled the fun in his plots. No longer could he string her along and act the part, she would just be subject to the meat grinder symphony known as Alois Scholz.
Slowly he stood, with a slight wince, and collected his dishes. After meticulously piling them atop each other, he limped toward the kitchen counter without his cane, a relatively dangerous action he normally indulged in at home. As he made his way toward the nearest load-bearing surface, he attempted to remedy the situation before she seized on his question. "Maybe it's best to discover such sings later. Part of being human is being an enigma."
Damn, did his leg hurt.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 25, 2013 12:32 am
At Alois’ question, Micah’s eyebrows slowly rose into her hairline. It was a lot to ask. Not because they were new to each other; Micah had no qualms about that. There wasn’t much to her, so what was there to hide, really. It was a lot to ask because Micah didn’t know, strictly speaking. Her mouth fell open as she attempted to find something to say. Anything. Her mind went blank and she groped around in the darkness for purchase. But there was only the wind. And so her mouth remained open, hanging useless as her vocal cords worked in her throat, trying to create sound but unable to do so. She tried to divine the answer from the wood grain of the table, like they were hidden in the swirling of brown and khaki.
What drives you?
Fear, Micah had already covered as a driving force for her but… not really. That was only the source of her anxiety. Acceptance? No. If Micah wanted to be accepted, she wouldn’t be as hostile as she normally was. She would have done more to fit in while she was in school. There were a lot of little things Micah would have done if she did what she did to be accepted. Love? That was why she fought as a senshi. Love of her brother, her mother, her father. Love of Millie and of Jett. Hell, even her love of the Dark Mirror Court kept her fighting. But that wasn’t right either. Love was why she powered up at night and chased the monsters in the night. Not why she got up in the morning. Duty? Responsibility? She sloughed those off enough to know those weren’t the answer.
Alois getting up from the table prompted her thoughts to derail, causing even more disruption. She shut her mouth, finally, and blinked as though she were just now seeing anything. She absently unhooked Alois’ cane from the back of the chair and handed it to him, trading it for the dishes. Still considering his question, Micah set the left overs aside and rinsed the used plates and utensils.
What drives you?
You idiot. You stupid, idiotic, shallow little girl. How can you not know this? Think! Why do you dress yourself every morning? Why do you choose lucky charms instead of cheerios? Why did you choose culinary school? Why? What drove you to do that? Misha? Millie? Your stations as a senshi? Love of god and country, for heaven’s sake!
You’re smarter than this.
“I… I don’t know,” she finally admitted softly, shutting off the water with finality. “I don’t know what motivates me. I just… live. I guess.” Micah would bet whatever she was worth and then interest that was not what Alois wanted to hear. She wrung her hands together, fighting the heat in her eyes. She’d tried. She’d tried and she’d tried, and she’d still failed. She’d outed herself as a horribly stupid shallow little girl who hadn’t matured past the playground. She’d misinterpreted compliments, rambled, embarrassed herself at every possible turn – she was doomed from the moment they met in the park.
“I’m sorry I’m not terribly interesting,” she finally lamented, wringing her hands through a towel in the guise of drying them. “You’re welcome to dine and dash if you’re bored. I’m sorry again.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jul 25, 2013 9:20 pm
Alois wasn't bothered by the silence. Sometimes words unspoken told more about the situation than he cared to articulate. She refrained from responding, and he said nothing to prompt her. Thus, they crowned each other in silence, and the tides of their strange friendship receded momentarily. In turn, they may flow with untold phenomena, with revelations embedded in the flotsam. Conversely, the tide might bear nothing but half-drowned ideals and the bloated corpse of understanding.
Silence was no different as a place of birth and death.
She exchanged his cane for dishes, though he accepted the trade in mild irritation. Was she implying he lacked the ability to walk on his own? Should he remain tied to this paltry facsimile of a third leg when he proved he was capable of moving on his own? Or was she insinuating he was weak? Alois didn't ask for his cane; he left it behind for a reason. Yet now he found it within his grasp, at the behest of Micah, and at a loss of both an answer and a fair measure of dignity. With an irked huff, he chose to lean against the cabinets and rest his cane atop the counter. Now within arm's reach, she could clearly discern that he had every ability to use it, but chose not to.
When she finally elected to respond, her words tinged with regret, that she still retained some semblance of a mystery. Now he might retain that careful plan of slowly unraveling her. As the fisherman and the sea, he may pull the stranger secrets of the earth from her sinusoidal tides. And each catch had the potential of sustaining him just a little longer, for the breadth of the day. And each cast might yield a sense of excitement, for he anticipated another small victory. And each storm might change him, for in turn he would respond with the hubris known to mankind. As a fisherman, he proved he was human.
As a fisherman, he lost his humanity.
Alois crossed his arms over his chest and watched her dry her hands religiously. "It's good zat you don't know. It's not so strange." After breaking eye contact, his hands checked his pockets for a telltale box that eternally danced out of his reach. Instead of a smooth, even surface, his fingertips met nothing but cloth and seams. "You may not sink you're interesting, but you lif' wis' yourself, so you're biased. But what would Jett or Millie sink? Somehow I sink I would find zeir opinions more objectif'. No offense." He flashed her a smirk. "If i stick around, are you going to call ze cops on me for loitering?"
Soon he recognized his actions; once again he searched for the cigarettes he forsook. He needed something to do with his hands, his mouth. He always needed something. He always needed to consume something. With his hands, his mouth. He needed something to do.
Why couldn't things be easier?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jul 26, 2013 12:18 am
Panic receded as Alois assured Micah that she was not, in fact, the pane of glass she believed herself to be. At least not entirely. That didn’t men she believed it – Micah found herself to be very two dimensional. Feed me and reassure me. That was it. Still, she smiled despite herself and tossed the towel over the sink.
“Millie is twelve,” she sighed. “And Jett is a playboy. They will have their own biases about me. Since I know myself, who better to say if I am or am not interesting. But thank you, Alois, for the benefit of the doubt.” Alois would know all about interesting people, though. With his guarded stare and his long silences. What was he thinking about? Micah bit the insides of her lips as she regarded the puzzle before her, leaning casually on her counter like he hadn’t just dropped one of the biggest bombshells ever on her head. Like he hadn’t shown up out of nowhere like embers and caught on her dry skin. Like she wasn’t burning up under his gaze.
Micah tore her eyes away again as she answered, “Of course not. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like, Alois. I just don’t want you to be bored, that’s all.” And then she noticed his actions. She watched in silence as Alois searched for… whatever he was searching for. “Keys… wallet? Can I help you find something?” She pushed away from her own counter to check the table – maybe they were still sitting over there… whatever it was…
His cane. Had he left it somewhere? For just a moment Micah’s mind went back into a panic, worrying about busted stitches and return trips to the hospital. How would she explain the blood on the floor? Her body locked up mid step as panic really set in. Oh god, she was going to accidentally end up hurting this poor man. And this time she hadn’t been meaning to cause any pain – well she hadn’t been meaning to cause any real pain last time. Just mild discomfort and irritation. But now… that was the opposite of what she wanted. Where would he have set it down? The table again? Micah checked to find nothing. Counter? Not the peninsula counter.
Oh there it was.
Oh.
Oh…
Micah blushed, realizing her earlier blunder. Alois didn’t need his cane today, did he? For whatever reason, maybe the many counters to support excess weight, maybe pain killers, maybe any number of other things. But he was perfectly capable of standing on his own, wasn’t he? Micah cursed herself inwardly, relaxing back against the counter, trying to decide if it would be rude to apologize or not.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jul 26, 2013 3:05 pm
"If you bored me, I wouldn't haf' shown up. It's zat simple." And for once, it truly was. Every web of lies required a skein of truth on which to grow, and this solitary strand might for a better foundation for the rest of his deep, beguiling tales. And with each leg of his own creation working in tandem toward a finite complexity to wither the errant freedom of his prey. But there was always sort of a delicate beauty to finality, wasn't there? "And if you bored me here, I wouldn't need your permission to walk out."
The fact that she noticed his endless search, almost before he did, was rather unnerving. What else might she notice without giving voice? "No, nossing of ze sort..." He breathed a sigh and abandoned the effort, instead seizing one of the spice jars from an elaborate rack atop the counter. He turned it with deft ease, manipulated the top and traced his fingers over the label. "I used to smoke. Verdammt, I started when I was fifteen. Sree years ago, s**t." He sighed and shifted his gaze to the window adjacent to him. "I quit recently; ze strange part isn't adjusting to ze lack of nicotine. You get used to it, like... Losing a part of yourself. You learn to function wis'out it, zough you will always remember its absence. But sometimes i look for a pack and don't even realize it."
Alois missed the taste, the feel, the quiet release offered to him through scorching his lungs. He missed his sole aesthetic aspect, obtained strictly through smoking. And he missed the means of a pause, a small escape from human contact, furnished by the laws prohibiting him from indulging in his vices.
"All I haf' left are reminders and echoes of my dying habits." After he spoke, he withdrew his wallet from his back pocket and opened the bifold to dump out a well-used book of matches. The front, though heavily creased and warped with use, still bore an expert artist's rendering of the Schwarzwald, and the notation in the corner confirmed it as a common German postal stamp. The matchbooks were issued as a common set, in commemoration of the postal system and its greater endeavors in aesthetics. Now it remained as used and beaten as the flimsy cover held in his palm.
After a brief pause, he discarded the half-empty matchbook atop the counter. "Here, you can haf' it; zere's a german postage stamp as ze cover. Srow it away if you want, but I don't haf' much use for it anymore."
He entrusted the matchbook to her, though it appeared a useless, almost offensive gesture. As a sole symbol of a catalyst, he chose to relinquish the decision of giving herself to his consuming whims and setting herself alight in the scathing measures of his roiling philosophies. And in the smoke of her adherence, he might thus sate himself, despite the vice long lost to greater endeavors. With his web in place, the final act remained for her to light the skeins and destroy any last acts of freedom.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jul 26, 2013 3:40 pm
Micah had never had a vice that required she quit, at least not yet. Realistically, she knew that one day should would not be able to support her running habit but… that seemed to pale in comparison to eliminating a chemical dependence. With running her legs would only itch but… she couldn’t be able to kick a habit like smoking, she knew. But even with that weakness, she could still be a source of support for someone stronger than her, right? She swelled slightly for Alois, proud of her new friend… acquaintance? She was proud, despite his newness to her. Proud at his turn towards health, proud of his resolve. Just proud of him.
“It is lovely,” she mused as she crossed the kitchen. And it was. The only matchbooks she’d seen were generic or from bars. Nothing terribly artistic about them. They were just conduits for the matches. She leaned on the counter next to Alois and turned the book over in her hands. Though it clearly wasn’t hand crafted, it was still finer than any other she’d seen. She tumbed the matches inside once or twice before cooing, “I shall cherish it forever.” And she would. Micah liked little things like that. Small trinkets from people she cared about. Like trophies or mementos or scraps of someone’s life.
Granted, she had no real use for matches. She didn’t smoke, didn’t really use candles. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Alois had given her something. It wasn’t much, and it may have been off handed, but it was a small show of some acceptance. Approval, even. Like Micah hadn’t worked all day for nothing. He was extending some small, perhaps unintentional olive branch to her, and she would be damned if she didn’t jump on it. Yes. Yes, I’ll be your friend, of course. It’s what I’ve been saying all this time.
“But,” she sighed after a while, tucking the book into her back pocket. “There is work to be done. If you can part with your…” she peered at the jar in Alois’ hands. “Basil… for just a moment. If you can walk, you can work, and I need help with the dishes. Sound like a good plan? It’ll keep your hands busy at the very least. For a new minutes anyway.” Micah pushed off of the counter and strode back over to the sink. It wasn’t a very large kitchen, so it took maybe three steps. “Would you rather wash or dry?”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jul 27, 2013 10:31 pm
Strange that she'd want to keep it... He recognized the matchbook as purely a means to feed his vices, or a catalyst to an unusual friendship. Perhaps unusual wasn't quite the word he was looking for - iconoclastic? That sounded closer to the truth. Still, she clutched that matchbook religiously and marveled at it. Why? Was it due to its exotic nature? Or did she find herself enthralled with the singular symbol that emphasized her subversive demise?
Without argument, he replaced the jar of basil on its intricate shelving. He even rotated the item so its label faced outward, clear and concise for onlookers to read. Afterward he slid his hand along the rough countertop while he limped (albeit painfully) toward the relatively small stack of dishes situated in the sink. "Doesn't matter much to me," he responded while staring absently at the varied pile. "I'm used to getting my hands dirty." He smiled inwardly at the multilayered meaning of his comment, but stoppered the sink and turned the faucet to hot regardless.
Were there any comparisons here? Disposing of civilians, as a means to strike at the senshi. Disposing of grime from the dishes, as a means to strike gold with the girl. Not particularly; a stretch at best. One remained an entirely menial domestic task, likely replete with small talk and abysmally repetitive actions. The other garnered his attention without prompt, and he devoted all of his intelligence and cunning to the varied individuals he encountered as a captain. The other entailed a great many revelations, and an even greater array of risks. Surely he realized that; his leg sustained a reopening of the wound as a result.
As he scrubbed the surface of the dishes with a coarse Brillo pad, his mind meandered toward that night. Though agonizing, he didn't quite lose that battle. He sustained a heavy injury, yes, but through it he ascertained almost intimate knowledge of the senshi and their priorities. He learned the necessity of civilians to turn the tides in his favor, and the importance of subordinates who may actually yield to his commands. Perhaps he needed to motivate them in a more efficient way.
Alois, or rather, Bischofite suffered some imprinting as a result. Some of the senshi present tried his patience, his willpower, his drive to learn. Those same senshi nearly killed him. Though he confessed to an impartiality to life, he regarded the thought of dying at his enemy's behest with blistering hatred. As he considered the possibilities of his retribution, the dish suffered the brunt of his stress.
Soon they will succumb to his greater revelations.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 28, 2013 11:03 pm
“A book store boy getting his hands dirty,” Micah marveled as she took her place beside Alois. “That’s a story I’d like to hear. Get your hands in wet ink? Is restoration messy business?” She crinkled her nose teasingly. This was alright, right? She could make jokes like that? This wasn’t a date, right? Like… she had him helping with the labor. That’s something you ask of a friend. Alois did want to be her friend, right? And this was her saying ‘yo, this isn’t a date so…’ right?
She dried dishes as they were handed to her, continuing her inner melt down.
“Like, I know you’re alright and stuff but if standing gets to be too much you’re free to bail on the dishes.” There weren’t that many dishes, granted, as Micah had done a good portion of the cleaning while she had been cooking. Really only the serving dishes and the plates. But Alois had broken his stitches open god only knew how long ago. She didn’t know how long ago that picture was taken either. Alois hadn’t volunteered any information about his injury, and she hadn’t asked. But she also didn’t want to cause him undo suffering simply because she was trying to impress on his the informality of their lunch not-date (right?)
“I’m not… very good at social situations,” she finally confessed, as though it would have been some dramatic turn of events. “So I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I’m sorry if this is all strange, I’m just trying…” To do what? Or was she just trying? That was all she ever did, Micah just tried. She tried and she tried, but she never did. And maybe it was time for her to start doing. “I’m trying to make it clear that this isn’t a date. And this is the best way I know how.” Right?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jul 28, 2013 11:26 pm
Alois continued the monotonous task, his eyes focused on the repetitive actions before him. Due to the sheer lack of brainpower present in the chore, he could do nothing but listen to her ceaseless social meanderings. And as she dug herself a hole, deeper and deeper, he passed her dishes in hopes of distracting her from her determined digging. Yet, she continued unabated, and he mourned his place as the captive audience for a change.
Bischofite was a far better host than Micah. At least he kept his guests entertained.
He took her insults without response, though he wondered why she chose to assault someone who was willingly assisting her. Did she fail to understand that his help was a good thing? Did she want to drive him off? Was she somehow aware of his ploys and sought to sabotage them through verbal abuse? No - she had no way of knowing. So what was it then? Did she simply dislike the fact that he worked in a bookstore, or was she being a b***h for aimless fun? Maybe she just sought to declare her dominance in the situation, much like the animal he compared with her several days ago. It didn't matter; it changed nothing, and thus he sought to remain silent.
Alois hadn't bothered to shift his gaze from the dishes when she switched subjects. After all, now that their chose was the topic of conversation, he had every reason to watch what he was doing. And despite offering for him to just walk out on her, no harm no foul, he continued his task as well as his silence. So she continued to focus on the fact that he was injured - either a product of 'basic human kindness' or she actually possessed some modicum of care for him. A useful piece of information indeed, but still not worthy of a response.
Finally she touched on a subject of merit - the elephant in the room. She lacked all grace in social situations, and she knew it. She understood her shortcomings in the field of communication, and by some profound stroke of misfortune, she remained worse than him at conversation. She even trailed off at the worst possible moment in her speech.
What a train wreck.
Alois finally smirked, though his typically stoic expression softened a bit. Still, he did not allow his gaze to stray from the dishes. "You're right." Finally he handed her the last dish. "You're even trying to declare zat zis isn't a date." With a minor laugh, he skirted her on his way to pick up his cane. "I'll be in touch, Micah." Though he considered adding a final quip to signify his departure, he elected to avoid it. Their friendship(?) still stood on a tentative level; he was loathe to upset the balance with his caustic teasings.
Then again...
"And I can see myself out. If you walked me to ze door, it'd be a date, yes?" Easy wins were too difficult to pass up. Finally he retraced their route to the kitchen and let himself out unceremoniously.
What the hell did he just subject himself to?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
