Whining despair leaves Vandren without his consent, all of that wound tension discharged in incredulity over the waste: spat wine dulling swiftly into the flagstone. Creature comforts run thin, here.
Poison is her answer, of course.
He accepts the cup, having no choice, and too baffled to push it back on her besides.
“Are you part of this organization?” he asks outright, pre-managing his own disbelief, all wrinkled brow and no desire to follow her. Mittens are for children and grandmamas. “You’re so awful.”
no subject
Whining despair leaves Vandren without his consent, all of that wound tension discharged in incredulity over the waste: spat wine dulling swiftly into the flagstone. Creature comforts run thin, here.
Poison is her answer, of course.
He accepts the cup, having no choice, and too baffled to push it back on her besides.
“Are you part of this organization?” he asks outright, pre-managing his own disbelief, all wrinkled brow and no desire to follow her. Mittens are for children and grandmamas. “You’re so awful.”