He regards her from booze-lidded eyes, from beneath the shadows that stretched across the festival bar, and he bites back anything else he might have to say. It is not a mercy, nor a desire to spare her, somehow -- but instead he is simply exhausted, unable to form the words that he thinks might help her understand. Perhaps he simply cannot bare that sort of weakness, the thing that he is seeking that he recognizes in her. Maybe he simply can’t find the right words for it. “Keep telling yourself that.” He tells her instead, taking the bottle that the bartender offers and turning to leave instead. All of a sudden, being here doesn’t seem as enticing, and seeking out a fight just seems like it will be entirely too much effort with his persistent shadow -- and finding a lover for the night even less worth the effort. “Don’t fuckin’ bother following me, I can find my way back home just fine.” |
@Teiran
