Uh huh. ( breezily. the cynicism comes as naturally as breathing. ) Sure.

( sure that he's full of shit — no one is good for the profit of being a decent fucking human. altruism is a quick way to make the heart go bankrupt, optimism in the red, trust depleted. if it isn't an act, then — he's as naive as a goddamn newborn, waiting for someone to rip the candy right out of his mouth. he'll learn, the way ani has learned, nothing — not help, or love, or marriage — ever comes free, no strings attached. she sniffs, covertly pocketing the ring back into a hoodie pocket, as if it isn't burning a hole into her awareness — as if it doesn't feel like it weighs her down like a concrete slab. )

Acrylics wouldn't catch on fire, dumbass. They would melt. ( it's toothless, anger as deflated as a popped balloon, left with nothing but the sad misery of having the air sucked out of her. rage had felt right, had felt good, had felt strong — this? it just feels fucking pathetic to be back under the watch of another self-imposed babysitter waiting for her to stick a knife in a toaster. she flashes the tip of her middle finger, flippantly rude, the charm painted orange in the firelit glow. ) You like 'em? Yours look like shit.