"I'm sorry--" Val has to cut off this apology to dodge, which he manages, just barely. He picks up right where he left off, without missing a beat: "I have been taunting a blind man all this time? Monsieur. You should have said. Now I feel really bad."
He does not seem to feel bad. His right hand squeezes, at last, around a passable-enough snowball, pinched together by his grip alone, but he drops it to give his cheek a light rap with his fingertips.
"Bad Val," he chides aloud, "the poor ugly diseased blind man cannot help himself. He is as the Maker has made him. I should do some sort of penance, I suppose. Eventually. After I have kicked your arse in this snow fight, monsieur. I promise you."
Big talk from a guy who's still cornered. There is still a little distance between them, some nine feet or so. Val glances at this expanse, quickly, perhaps nervously. He grabs at his snowball again, still with his right hand.
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He does not seem to feel bad. His right hand squeezes, at last, around a passable-enough snowball, pinched together by his grip alone, but he drops it to give his cheek a light rap with his fingertips.
"Bad Val," he chides aloud, "the poor ugly diseased blind man cannot help himself. He is as the Maker has made him. I should do some sort of penance, I suppose. Eventually. After I have kicked your arse in this snow fight, monsieur. I promise you."
Big talk from a guy who's still cornered. There is still a little distance between them, some nine feet or so. Val glances at this expanse, quickly, perhaps nervously. He grabs at his snowball again, still with his right hand.