( no real heat. it hits like stray shrapnel gone sideways, anyway. ani reclines back in her seat, settling into a tactical retreat of silence — the kind someone should expect after they drop a bomb like that, the impact still ringing in her ears. guess that's what happens when a girl lobs a loaded grenade of a dare and a guy fucking fumbles the catch — all eye-rolls, like she was dumb to even toss the idea out. to even think he had the thought in his head. )
Wow. ( about as animated as day-old soda gone flat, unimpressed. safe to say: points deducted from jake seresin's total. ) Slick.
( if all of his pivots are that fucking obvious, the navy's future looks grim. there's no lift of his eyes to meet, no attention to shutter out. ani follows suit, eyes trained on a bronzed, baroque candlestick — just as pretty and indifferent as him — she tip-taps the ashes of her cigarette into, for the butler to britishly bitch over later. )
Yeah. ( breezy, but only in the way that a distant wind is. felt, but far. maybe she's thinking, or just holding her energy closer, now. her little tiles boast six faces, compared to what he has left on the board. doesn't ask the follow-up question she should, or even the one most people would: ) Do you think you fucked up?
( zeroed in on the part that matters, because who gives a fuck about anyone else? clarifying, even if it means having to hint she gives a single fuck: ) — Made the wrong call, I mean.
no subject
Wow. ( about as animated as day-old soda gone flat, unimpressed. safe to say: points deducted from jake seresin's total. ) Slick.
( if all of his pivots are that fucking obvious, the navy's future looks grim. there's no lift of his eyes to meet, no attention to shutter out. ani follows suit, eyes trained on a bronzed, baroque candlestick — just as pretty and indifferent as him — she tip-taps the ashes of her cigarette into, for the butler to britishly bitch over later. )
Yeah. ( breezy, but only in the way that a distant wind is. felt, but far. maybe she's thinking, or just holding her energy closer, now. her little tiles boast six faces, compared to what he has left on the board. doesn't ask the follow-up question she should, or even the one most people would: ) Do you think you fucked up?
( zeroed in on the part that matters, because who gives a fuck about anyone else? clarifying, even if it means having to hint she gives a single fuck: ) — Made the wrong call, I mean.